I hear someone, Brenda, get up to go to the bathroom and listen as she blows her nose and fills a glass with water. It must be killing her too – I know I should make more effort to look after and support her, and Alysha obviously, but right now, I can’t think straight.
“Mark,” I hear a tapping on my bedroom door. “I’ve made you a cuppa.”
“Just leave it by the door sis.” I sit up in the emerging dawn. “Thanks.”
“You OK? You’ve been in this room for sixteen hours. Do you want some food? Or some company?”
“No. No thanks. I’m fine. Just knackered. And I need to think.”
“Well, I’m downstairs if you need me.”
A short time later, Brenda comes to the door. “Mark, are you going to get Alysha today? I’d like to see her.”
“I don’t know.” I should, but I’m too down.
“You can’t lock yourself in there forever. That little girl needs her daddy.”
“You could always go to their house and see her.”
“It’s you, she needs. And her familiar surroundings.”
I feel resentful. I will not allow anyone, not even Brenda, to tell me what to do with my own daughter. And there’s no point me collecting Alysha when I can’t meet her needs properly. Although I suppose I have Claire and Brenda here. It’s going to break Brenda’s heart when she finds out that Lauren was expecting again. “I’ll be out soon.”
“It’s not going to do you any good staying in your room like this. You know that, don’t you?”
What I do know is that nothing is going to do me any good. Unless someone can wave a magic wand and bring the love of my life and my unborn baby back.
I’ve hit a brick wall today. I can’t seem to move myself. I’ve never felt this low, ever. Part of me wants to be swallowed up by death myself so I can be with her. Then I feel unbelievably guilty for feeling like this. I can’t see a way forward without her and can’t get images of the violent way she died out of my mind. I should have been there to help her.
Claire and Brenda keep trying to coax me out of the bedroom, rattling the door on its hinges when they realise I’ve locked it.
“What on earth is up with you?” Claire calls out.
“Um you, know, my wife-to-be has just been murdered.”
“Mark, get a shower. Let’s go and pick Alysha up - get out of here for a while.”
I ignore her. Brenda returns a short time after and announces that she’s left a sandwich next to my door. Hopefully it contains cyanide.
Then Will’s voice. “Mark. Let me in. Come on.”
Then another voice. “Daddy.” The one that finally brings me back to my senses. After nearly twenty-four hours of being holed up in my bedroom, I know I’ve got to get sorted.
“I’ll be downstairs when I’ve had a shower,” I call out. I get a glimpse of myself as I look in the mirror. I’ve already lost weight and have a two-day-old beard emerging. I haven’t even showered since Sunday morning, when Lauren was still here. I can imagine life becoming like that now. Not feeling an urge to shave or shower. There’s no purpose in anything. My life has divided itself into two time zones - before Lauren was robbed from me and after.
Chapter Twenty Seven
DI Jones stands in front of his captive audience of police personnel. “So, I’ve been looking carefully at the two cases, and I have to conclude that there are many coincidences that must be considered. He then reels off pretty much everything that was in Lauren’s notebook and everything I added to it, whilst referring to a list he has made on the whiteboard.
All around the room on the foam backed noticeboards, there are photographs of each of the river victims, with key information about them all. On the last board, there is a photograph of my beautiful, smiling Lauren, looking full of life. I bite my lip at the irony. He sweeps his gaze around the room, now named the ‘incident room.’ “Personally, I believe there’s every likelihood that we could be dealing with a serial killer.”
There’s silence for a few moments then a voice breaks the tension.
“Do we know anything about him?”
“I don’t know if we can make assumptions that it’s a ‘him’ just yet. I’m waiting on some DNA reports from the post-mortem on Lauren Holmes.” My heart lurches as he says her name. He looks across at me, as though making sure I’m alright before carrying on. “There’s been no DNA found on the women from the river that hasn’t been accounted for. The funerals have now taken place of all but the last two. I’m also going to be looking at some more CCTV footage later today.”
“Of what?” DCI Ingham frowns at DI Jones. “And why is it, that this is the first I am hearing about it? I’m leading the river enquiry - I should have been briefed.”
“It’s because you haven’t been on shift.” DI Jones frowns back. “One or two more things came to light that I needed to deal with as well.”
“And if there is someone out there…” Chris begins.
A female police officer adds, “We need to get him locked up before he goes after his next victim.”
“I’m not at all happy with this.” Hutton, a sergeant from South Team says, his voice booming around the incident room. “It’s taken eight deaths this winter before we’re seriously looking for someone?” He looks from DI Jones to DCI Ingham. “Not to mention the deaths last winter. This could be a Police Complaints Commission job Sir. I’ve got a missus, a sister, a mum…”
“Most of us have.”
“Lucky you.” Bitterness trickles through my words. “I haven’t got a missus anymore, which is why I want this bastard caught. Hopefully it will be me doing the catching – he’ll be meeting the same fate as my Lauren did, if I do.”
“You shouldn’t even be at work,” DCI Ingham says, his voice bearing a stern edge. “And you certainly shouldn’t be anywhere near this case any more. You have too much emotional involvement.”
“Of course I have! Which makes me far more use than you.” The words are escaping me before I’ve chance to consider what I’m saying. “It took my fianceé to flag up incompetence in handling the case through the media before you sorted any safety measures around that river. Even then, you’ve only implemented half measures!”
“How dare you speak to me like that, Sergeant?”
“How dare you suggest that I shouldn’t be anywhere near this case? I’ll do a far better job than has been done so far.”
Everyone is staring at me but I don’t care. And I don’t care about his marital woes either. To slate a DCI, especially publicly, is unheard of. Usually it’s Ma’am or Sir, bowing and scraping.
“Alright Mark, calm down.” DI Jones’s voice is steady. “I am inclined to agree with DCI Ingham though. You should be taking some time off and spending it with your family.”
“My family is lying in a hospital mortuary,” I snarl. “Because of him.” I point at DCI Ingham. If he had only done what he was supposed to do. He kept saying that the new measures were in hand and that he was chasing things up. He should have been on the phone to that council office every single day.
I want to have a closer look at all the evidence that’s been taken from around the riverbank too, when I get the chance. I bet all that’s been brushed under the carpet. I know Ingham’s had stuff going on at home but there’s no excuse for this sort of thing. Not when you’re a DCI. If you’re not up to the job, you pass it on.
“I don’t have to listen to this.” DCI Ingham stands, his chair scraping the floor. “In all my years on the force, I’ve never heard such disrespect for my judgement.”
“Judgement!” I almost laugh. “Is that what you call it?”
“Mark. That’s enough. Anymore and you’ll be up for a disciplinary”
I know DI Jones is right but glare as Ingham marches away. As the door bangs after him, the female officer, Paula, I think her name is, speaks. “We can’t blame DCI Ingham. It is a dreadful stretch of river. There’s been multiple deaths in the Alder over the years, not just r
ecently. We all know about the sudden depths and the undercurrent. It was fair that he deemed the drownings to be accidental.”
“That’s as may be,” the other policewoman replies. “But it doesn’t explain why all the fencing and the other stuff has only just been sorted.”
“He has been waiting on the various contractors and services to do their bit.” DI Jones is addressing us all but is looking directly at me. “And DCI Ingham did have a point about respect. Whatever anyone is thinking or feeling, he is a Detective Chief Inspector with many years of experience.”
“Ingham has been a bit of a prat for a while,” Chris says in the staff room after the meeting. “I heard him having words with someone in his office earlier. When I was walking past. Don’t let him get to you Mark.”
“He’s not been right since he split with his wife last year,” Paula adds. “It sounded like a messy one. My husband works with Sue, who used to live next door to the Inghams. She and I really hit it off when I went to their work’s Christmas do with him - she was telling me all about Ingham’s break-up.”
I glance around. There are only police constables, special constables and me around, so she is safe to talk.
“Blimey.” Chris stirs his tea. “Talk about Chinese whispers. It’s like my sister’s, friend’s, brother-in-law’s uncle. So, what’s the lowdown then?”
I think of the gossip that I could go home and tell Lauren if she was still alive. The realisation that she’s not there hits me again like a thunderclap. It’s the only reason I’ve ever listened to gossip. To tell Lauren. Obviously, only when it’s not something that’s confidential and pertinent to an investigation.
I try not to listen to them talking, but it’s hard not to. I feel more normal being here, at the station anyway. It’s my domain, apart from being at home. And I can’t bear being there, amongst the grief and the reminders. Lauren’s stuff is everywhere.
Paula sits on the corner sofa, her coffee in front of her and a banana on her lap. “The neighbour, Sue, heard loads of shouting all the time. She’s an alcoholic, his wife, that is. A functioning one anyway.” She peels the top off her banana as she speaks. “Ingham apparently couldn’t handle it any more. You’ve got to feel sorry for him really. Especially when he caught his wife in their bed with some bloke she’d met at an AA meeting. They were both leathered and had fallen asleep. Ingham threw them into the garden with no clothes on and Ingham himself left soon after that. I’m still in touch with Sue - she reckons she still sees him at the front door from time to time. She reckons Ingham wants them to try again.”
The staff room is quiet as everyone listens in. “So that’s why he was on leave in the summer for so long,” she adds.
I was given some of his caseload last summer. I didn’t know why he was off at the time and didn’t ask. It wasn’t really any of my business. To me, he’s just a work colleague who I have got to show respect to, because he’s a superior officer.
“Anyway,” Paula continues. “Sue was friendly with Ingham’s wife too. Divorce had been on the cards for a while. He’d not liked her having a drink, not even a glass of wine when they first got together – he was really controlling.”
“I can imagine,” I say. And I can. He has to be in charge.
“His wife hid her drink problem from him. Sue had a good idea about it, being at home through the day and chatting to her. If Ingham suspected her of drinking, she said he would slap her about a bit. I’m not sure I believed that though.”
“Really?” Chris puts his cup on the table. “Our Detective Chief Inspector! Knocking his wife about? Never!”
“That will do.”
There’s a silence as we all turn to the booming voice at the doorway. DI Jones stands there. “I’ve been listening long enough to you lot. I’m not having it. If you want to keep your badges, have some respect. Mark, I need a word.” He turns and his footsteps thud along the corridor.
Everyone looks mildly sheepish. I get up.
“I’ll tell you the rest later,” Paula mouths at me.
“I don’t know what all that was about,” DI Jones begins, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.
“I wasn’t really listening to be honest. I’ve enough crap swirling around my head without getting involved in police station gossip.” I sink onto the chair. “Have there been any developments yet?”
“I got hold of the CCTV. I wanted you to look at it with me. See if you recognise the person. But first, if you want to stay on the case, I need assurances there will be no more outbursts towards DCI Ingham.”
“Yes Sir.” I know I’ll have to watch myself at the moment.
“Good. Otherwise you’re suspended. And that’s the last thing I want to happen.”
I nod. “Where have you recovered it from?”
“All of the places you told me about.”
“That’s good.” I can’t believe I’m using the word good in relation to this. Nothing is good anymore.
“I’ve been lucky.” He goes on. “None of it has been hard to get hold of. The hairdresser had it ready for me. Plus, I’ve got local authority CCTV for the street outside the bridal shop and the café too. Because you gave me good estimates of the times Lauren was there, I haven’t had to trawl through as much as I might have had to.”
“So there’s someone actually there, on all three films? Hanging around?”
“It looks that way. I’ll show you the one from hairdressers first.”
I watch as a tall, wiry figure in a hood stands on the corner outside the salon. He’s not there long before he crosses the road. He definitely looks to be hanging around, waiting for something, or in this case, someone. The image is a bit grainy and will need forensic examination.
“Look, he goes out of shot.” DI Jones tilts the screen so we can see it better. “Then he comes back again.”
“Does it show his face at all?”
“Unfortunately not. None of them do. Maybe he knew where the cameras were. But I’d swear it’s the same guy.” He clicks his mouse. “Look. This one’s outside the bridal shop.”
I watch as our car comes into view on the screen. There’s someone crouched behind it.
“I’ll forward this bit.” DI Jones clicks the mouse again. “There’s nothing much to see. He’s pretty much like that for about seven minutes. At least it seems as though it is a man we are looking for.”
I watch as Lauren and Sara leave the shop, and Lauren points towards our car. It’s bittersweet to see her alive on the video, large as life. I can’t believe she’s gone. I swallow. I will not cry. I have a job to do. The man in the CCTV moves as though he is doing up his shoe and then darts around the corner.
“Do you recognise him?” DI Jones’s voice startles me somewhat. I was miles away. I’m finding that over the last few days. I can’t focus on anything.
I peer at the now-stilled picture. “To be honest, in that hood and wearing those non-descript clothes, he could be anyone. But it’s the same guy as before. Same build and height.”
“With some sort of interest in Lauren.” DI Jones takes a sip from the water bottle beside him. “Here’s the first CCTV footage. It’s from last month outside Bridge Street Café.”
This time the man is trying to conceal himself around a corner. Then he walks up and down at the other side of the street. I hate the bastard. He’s brutally snatched Lauren’s life and ruined mine and Alysha’s too.
“Surely we can get his face from that.” I point at the screen. “He was facing the camera for a few seconds there.”
“I’ve looked at that already. He’s too far away to be in focus. I’ve tried to zoom in on his face and you just can’t make anything out. But I’ll pass it through. The tech team might be able to do something with it. How old do you think he looks?”
“Joggers. Hoodie. And is he wearing trainers?”
“I can’t tell.” DI Jones leans towards the screen.
“Given his dress, I’d say he’s probably at the younger end of
the spectrum.”
“Possibly.” DI Jones turns the screen back towards himself. “There’s no doubt though that your fiancée was being stalked and it’s very important that we find this man. I reckon he’ll have a lot to tell us about how she died. I’ll get this image circulated and ask for info about those dates, times and locations.
“I’ve just remembered something else.”
“Go on.”
“Did you hear about a week last Sunday, when I was out with Lauren at the Yorkshire Arms? She’d nipped outside to take a couple of pictures in the dark, forever the journalist – she wanted them to go with her articles.” I sag at the memory. If only I could turn the clock back. “Anyway, she swore blind there was someone hanging around then too. I even rang for back up but there was no one there by the time it arrived.”
“Yes, someone mentioned it to me. By the sounds of it, there probably was someone there. He’ll have scarpered. And, as we’ve already found out, we didn’t have cameras covering the area then. We have now, but obviously it’s too late.”
“When can you get those pictures out? I just want him caught.”
“I know. So do I. But Mark, you look knackered. Sorry to be so blunt.” DI Jones leans back in his executive chair, hands clasped behind his head. “You need to go home and get some rest.”
“I need to be at work. I’ve had plenty of rest. I was in bed from four o clock in the afternoon yesterday, till nearly lunchtime today. I couldn’t face anyone.” My eyes fall on a framed picture of him with a woman and two young boys. Lucky sod, I think. What I’d give to have Lauren back here. “Your family?”
The Yorkshire Dipper Page 15
