I’m struggling with Alysha, but I can’t tell Claire. What we’ve told her about her mother doesn’t seem to have gone in, she still thinks her mum will be back, and I’m finding it difficult to cope with her being chatty and normal. Plus, she’s too much of a reminder of Lauren. I’m keeping Brenda at arm’s length too, for the same reason. It’s all something I’ve got to deal with, but not yet.
“I’ll spend some time with her later.” I slide my jacket off the back of the dining chair and put it on. “Eva will be more pleased to see you than me, I reckon. She’ll be nervous. If she’s still there, that is. They’re not filming until later this morning. You can calm her down much better than I can.”
“I’m surprised Eva wanted to do the reenactment. I imagine it’ll be one of the hardest things she will ever have to do.”
“We talked about it yesterday. I rang her from the station.” I drop the mug I’ve been drinking from into the washing-up bowl. “She was pleased to help to be honest, and said she’d rather pose as Lauren than have a stranger do it. She’s going to use her own bike as we haven’t been given Lauren’s back yet.”
“It’s going to be awful for her.”
“I know. There’s an actor who’s going to be dressed up like Lauren’s killer. He’s going to have to yank her off her bike then drag her towards the stream.”
“Well, whatever happens, it raises the profile, doesn’t it?”
“But it doesn’t bring Lauren back.” I throw my uneaten slice of toast in the bin and fill my water bottle from the tap. “I’m going to get this wedding dress sorted out.”
“Can I help you?” A woman pokes her head out from another room as the door of the bridal shop beeps.
“Mark Potts. I’m here to pick up the dress of Lauren Holmes.”
“Ah yes.” Her expression darkens. “Come through. I’m so terribly sorry to hear about Lauren.” She reaches out and touches my arm. “It’s such a tragic waste. You must be devastated.”
“You could say that.” I just want to get on with this and out of here, away from this sympathy – I can’t stand it. “Anyway, it might sound odd to you, but the funeral home where she’s going, have asked me what she’d want to wear. I could only think of her wedding dress.”
The young woman’s eyes appear to fill with tears. She looks away and busies herself with her computer. “That’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. And the saddest. How are you doing? And your little girl?”
“She’s too young to understand. She’s spent a lot of time with my brother’s family since it happened. I’m just taking it hour by hour. Well, minute by minute really.”
She sniffs and seems to compose herself. Her tone changes and becomes more matter of fact. “Right - Lauren came in last month for her first fitting. Following that, the seamstress took up the dress an inch. I’ll just check she’s brought it back. Have a seat.”
I sink into a pink chair at the edge of a mass of white satin and polythene. To me, they all look the same. I imagine Lauren coming in here with Sara and picking out her dress. To me, she’d have looked gorgeous in anything. She shouldn’t be dead. She shouldn’t be dead. She. Shouldn’t. Be. Dead. By the time the shop assistant returns, five minutes later, I’ve got my old friends, the tears, for company. I’m supposed to be a tough-as-old-boots police officer, but I’m a whimpering wreck.
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my face on my sleeve. “It’s. It’s just being here, it’s…”
“I know.” She drapes what must be Lauren’s dress wrapped in polythene on the counter. “It’s awful. I’ve met her twice now. She was so excited to be getting married. And so much loved you and your little girl.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t think anything could right now. I try to change the subject. “Thanks for digging that CCTV out for my colleague.” I stand and walk towards the counter, trying to be more professional and business-like. “He matches a description of the man in two other locations where Lauren felt as though she was being watched. We’re definitely onto something.”
“I hope you get him. Poor Lauren.”
I tug my wallet out. “What do we owe you for this.” We. I won’t have many more chances to say this.
“Lauren had paid for more than half of it.” The woman tucks her hair behind her ear. “We wouldn’t hear of taking anything else from you. Please have the dress with our condolences. I’ve cleared it with my supervisor.”
“That’s really kind.” Fresh tears spring to my eyes. As I leave the shop, I’m filled with raw emotion for the kindness I’ve been shown in the last few days; text messages, cards, Facebook posts and just the way people treat me.
I drop the dress off with some white underwear and Lauren’s white Converse trainers. I don’t know what she was planning to wear on her feet for the wedding, but if it could have been Converse, it would have been. I ask them to plait her hair and read through the newspaper announcement that’s due to go in the local paper.
The life of Lauren Frances Holmes, aged 32, was tragically cut short on Sunday January 26th 2020. Beloved wife-to-be of Mark and mother of Alysha. Cherished daughter of Brenda and the late Roy, Sister-in-law of William, Eva and Claire and auntie of Heidi. Funeral arrangements to be confirmed, and the family requests a splash of colour is worn. Family flowers only please but donations can be made to CRUISE, Bereavement Counselling Service. Lauren will be forever missed.
Chapter Thirty Three
I return to the car and decide to check with Eva how the reconstruction has gone, but just as I’m pulling up her number, the station rings.
“Mark. DI Jones here. Denise, the other woman attacked at the stream, has regained consciousness. Earlier this morning.”
Like I need reminding who Denise is. “That’s good news.” I hope I don’t sound too half-hearted. I genuinely am relieved, just bitter that Lauren didn’t get the same outcome.
“She’s up to talking. Just for a short time. I’m going to visit her. See what she remembers.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“That’s not why I was ringing. Honestly, Mark. I was just letting you know. There’s no need for you to come along. It could be really hard for you.”
“Nothing could be any harder for me than what’s already happened. I want to see her. If that’s alright?”
“It might be upsetting for her, too. You know, meeting the nearly-husband of a woman who’s not been as fortunate as she has.”
“Fair point. How about if, for now, I just introduce my name and rank and don’t tell her anything about who I am. It’s been fine so far with the families I’ve met when I’ve been out with Sergeant Hutton and PC Canvey.”
“If that’s OK? Apparently she’s still very weak, and I could do with having another officer with me. There’s no one else around at the moment. But let me do the talking Mark.”
After parking in the police section of the hospital car park, I meet DI Jones in the foyer. The last time I was here was to identify Lauren’s body. I feel cold, despite the heat that’s being generated from so many people huddled together in the waiting area.
“They have moved her into the high dependency unit.” DI Jones says as we walk down the blue shiny corridor past a little courtyard where several people are sat vaping, in dressing gowns and slippers. “She’s out of the woods now and they needed her intensive care bed.”
“Is she expecting us?”
“Yes. The doctor has said we can have no more than five minutes. She’s very tired. Her husband will be there too.”
We report to the nurse’s station and are shown to Denise’s bay, nodding to the two constables on watch duty. She’s hooked up to an array of machines, all bleeping intermittently.
“Denise,” the nurse says. “Here are the two officers I mentioned. Are you definitely up to answering questions?”
“I’ll do my best,” she croaks. She points to her neck. “As you can hear, and see, he had a good go at flattening my windpipe.” My
gaze flickers to her neck, swollen and purple.
“DI Jones and Sergeant Potts,” DI Jones announces. “Thanks for seeing us Denise. We won’t keep you long.” He offers his hand to the man sat beside Denise’s bed.
“I’m Jack,” he announces. “Denise’s husband. I hope you’re going to catch this bastard.”
I shake his hand as well. His face wears the tiredness and relief of the last two days he has lived through. You don’t know how lucky you are, I want to tell him. I’d give anything to have my wife-to-be here. But for these few minutes, I have to be professionalism personified.
Denise has a drain from her head, due to having been hit on the back of it with a rock, as the attacker had with Lauren, causing internal bleeding.
“I know you won’t feel like it,” I say. “But you’ve had an extremely lucky escape.”
“I know. If it wasn’t for the man walking his dog.”
“We still don’t know if there’ll be any lasting effects from the head injury.” Jack touches her hand. “Not to mention the psychological scars. She’ll have to take it easy for a while.”
“I just want him caught.” Denise croaks, looking from me to DI Jones. “I don’t think I’ll dare leave my house again until you have him locked up.”
A minute’s gone already. We need to get asking questions. Without waiting for DI Jones, I decide to wade in. “Have you any idea why anyone might have done this to you?” I stare at the terrible bruising on her arm as she raises her hand to rub the side of her head.
“None whatsoever. I was minding my own business.” Her voice is raspy. “On my bike, on my way to work.”
DI Jones frowns at me and I know that’s my cue to butt out and let him do the talking.
“What time did you leave for work?”
“About half ten. In the morning.”
He pulls his chair slightly closer to the bed. “You live fairly close to the cycle path, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And he pushed you from your bike, presumably. Can you remember which direction he came at you from?”
“It’s all hazy.” She’s rubbing her throat now as she looks at her husband. “I’ve been trying to remember as much as I can, but thinking makes my head hurt more.” She coughs. “Sorry, it hurts to talk. I think he jumped out at me.”
“I bet it does.” I notice her husband’s concerned face and feel the urge to weep. I would give absolutely anything to be at Lauren’s bedside right now. Instead, in another part of the hospital, she’ll be getting collected any time soon, and taken to the funeral home. It’s so cruel.
“He seemed to jump out of absolutely nowhere.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
“Not really. He’d hit me over the head before I realised what was going on. It all happened so quickly.”
“Can you remember anything at all about what he was wearing?
I don’t mind keeping quiet. DI Jones is asking all the right questions. I’m glad to be here though, hearing it all first-hand. I feel as though I’m helping Lauren by being here.
“A hoodie,” Denise replies. “And he was quite a lot taller than me. When he had his arm around my throat, I wasn’t even up to his shoulders.”
“What about his build?”
“Average build, I guess. Like I said, it’s hazy, and it all happened so fast. I can’t remember getting away from him.”
“Do you recall anything about his hair or the colour of his eyes?“
Denise shakes her head.
“It was a dog walker who rescued you and raised the alarm. Do you remember him?”
“No, it’s all much of a blank after I was hit over the head. Though I do now remember having my face under the water and thinking I was going to die. I recall feeling the stones at the bottom of the stream cutting into my face.” She raises one hand to touch the extensive lacerations.
“You must have been terrified.” Jack squeezes her other hand. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
She squeezes his hand back. “You know me. I’ll be back on my feet in no time. He’s not ruining the rest of my life.”
I swallow, wishing more than anything on earth that Lauren could talk about the rest of her life. I hate this bastard more than ever. I’m keeping calm and quiet but I will get him and I will get access to him after we have brought him in. He will wish he had never been born.
DI Jones pulls the CCTV image and the e-fit impression from his folder. “Do these pictures jog your memory at all?” Denise is laid nearly flat, so he places the images on his folder then angles them towards her.
She tries to sit up and looks from one to the other, then back to DI Jones. “I’m trying, but no – it could be anyone really. Apart from the hoodie. I do remember he was wearing a hoodie. That’s all I can be definite about.”
“Did he say anything?” I ask.
“Not properly,” she replies. “He was kind of snarling. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever gone through.” She leans back into her pillows. “I can’t believe I’m still here to be honest. I honestly thought he was going to kill me. I’m shocked that I survived it.” Tears are spilling from her eyes down the sides of her head. “I don’t know why he came after me.”
“I think that’s enough for today,” Jack says, letting go of her hand and looking at us. “Can you come back another day if you’ve got any more questions?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind,” Denise croakily agrees. “I’m feeling a bit sickly.”
I don’t go back to the station. After visiting Denise, I drop the dress off at the funeral home. There’s a private ambulance parked at the side entrance, and I wonder if it’s transferring Lauren. The reconstruction will be underway now. I give Chris a call and discover he and Hutton have made appointments to meet with two more of the families today. At first I’m annoyed that they haven’t kept me informed of their plans. Until Hutton explains he was told I was visiting Denise.
Because I am finding that I’m totally unable to stop, I arrange to meet them at the first appointment they have made. If I allow it to, my misery might just devour me. With every day that passes, I feel as though I’m sinking a little bit further, I have to keep fighting to stay afloat.
Chapter Thirty Four
Veronica’s Family
Chris digs his hands into his pockets. “This feels like a waste of time. It’s not as if anybody is telling us anything we don’t already know.”
“I disagree.” Hutton looks at him as we stride towards the gate. “We owe it to these families to show we are taking their loss seriously. And I know it would sound cynical if anyone knew, but it might also make the difference between receiving official complaints, or not.”
“And more importantly, even if the tiniest bit of new information comes to light,” I add. “It might lead us to the scumbag quicker.”
“Before he kills any more women.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” Chris leads us up some steps to the door. “What do I know? You two have been at this a lot longer than I have.”
As I look from the porch towards the bay window, nothing seems to have moved from when I was here two months ago, apart from the Christmas tree. I imagine that got ripped down straightaway. Personally, I can’t imagine celebrating anything anymore.
“Hi.” Tricia opens the door. She’s different to how I remember. Thinner. Older. Much more serious. This is what grief does; it etches itself into every line on your face. “Come in.”
We file past her, me first. I know where we’re going from last time. Out of the latest victims, Veronica’s family was the last one I was allowed to have any involvement with before Ingham made me take a back seat when Lauren had started digging.
God, what I’d give to turn the clock back. December. I had everything to live for then.
The room looks much bigger without the imposing tree. Tricia must notice me looking around.
“I can’t bear to change anything in here.” She wipes
a tear away. “I know I’m going to have to get the house on the market soon and I’ll have to pack Mum’s stuff up at some point. I just can’t face it yet.” She pulls a tissue from the box. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to cry. It’s just – seeing police again, it kind of brings it all back.”
“It must be very difficult,” Hutton points at an armchair. “Do you mind if we have a seat?”
“Of course not.” She gestures towards the sofa for me and Chris, then sits on the other armchair and blows her nose. “So what did you want to see me about?”
I pull out my notebook which, so far, isn’t doing too well at recording anything additional.
“We just want to go over the evening of your mother’s death again. Now that it’s become a suspected murder investigation, we’re going back over all the evidence, checking that we haven’t missed anything.”
Tricia nods, looking deep in thought. “It’s horrendous. One day, I’m thinking Mum’s fallen in under the influence. Then people are suggesting she’d jumped in because she was missing Dad, which is rubbish by the way. She would never have done that. And now…” her voice trails off and she dabs at her eyes.
“I know,” Hutton says. “We hate to make you go back over it, but if there’s the tiniest bit of something that we’ve missed. We just need to catch this person.”
“I gave you a full account back then.” She sighs and blows her nose again. “Sorry for getting so upset. I think it has brought Dad’s passing back to me too. We’d gone out to cheer Mum up. She hadn’t had a night out since he died. But we hadn’t eaten, and she’d been drinking gin. It’s all my fault. I should have insisted that we ate earlier. We got carried away.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Chris smiles. “Drinking on an empty stomach. It’s not your fault at all.”
“Mum only went to the loo. Suddenly I realised she’d been gone for a while and had an inkling maybe she wasn’t well. She didn’t drink a lot, usually.”
The Yorkshire Dipper Page 19
