by Wes Markin
‘No, you never said.’
‘I caught him eating a fucking sandwich right by my dead mother-in-law. I lost it with him.’
‘You didn’t hit him?’
‘No, just raised my voice. No violence. I’m still holding it together, don’t worry. Some people, eh?’
‘I know, Iain.’
‘I’ll check in later if that’s okay?’
‘You can check in as many times as you want, you know that, but the answer might always be the same.’
‘If you weren’t working, and I didn’t want you working, I’d probably expect you to buy me a drink.’
‘Sounds good. Let’s keep it on the table.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
‘Bye, Ian.’
He stared back out of the window and noticed the first flakes of snow. The white reminded him of ghosts.
And suddenly his head was full of them.
He turned his phone off. Just for five minutes.
He locked his office door, sat in his chair, and cried.
He then fell asleep with his head on the desk.
Gardner opened her office drawer and pulled out an empty packet of tic-tacs. She sighed and started rustling around for one that might have come loose. The phone rang.
‘Hi, is that Detective Inspector Gardner?’
‘Yes, who is this please?’
‘Detective Inspector Jackson from Brighton. I need five minutes if that’s possible.’
‘Of course.’
‘A case we’re investigating has flagged up a connection to yourselves in Wiltshire via an old APW. In fact, I was really looking to talk with DCI Michael Yorke, but I tried a couple of times and I’ve just got voicemail. Your reception suggested yourself? It links to an older case you investigated called ‘Operation Haystack?’
Gardner bolted upright in her chair. ‘Yes, what about it?’
‘A suspect you had an APW out on … a Lacey Ray?’
‘That’s right.’ Gardner could feel her heart beat quicken.
‘Well, history seems to be repeating itself, DI Gardner, we’ve just put out an APW on her again.’
Gardner was now on her feet.
The door opened, and Jake stood there. She pointed at the phone and tried to maintain a calm expression; she didn’t want to betray the nature of the call and panic him. At least not until she had the details. Jake held his hand up to apologise and closed the door.
‘DI Gardner?’
‘Sorry, I was just closing the office door. Lacey Ray disappeared a long time ago after she terrorised half the people in the area.’
‘I know, we have all the files here. She’s wanted for murder in Southampton and Wiltshire. She also went under the alias of Lucy Evans in Nice, France, for eighteen months and is wanted in connection with murder there too. It seems her DNA is doing the rounds, which is why we have an APW out again. Her DNA showed up at a crime scene yesterday.’
Gardner had a vile taste in her mouth; she longed for relief in the form of mint. ‘What happened?’
‘Are you okay, DI Gardner?’
‘Yes … I’m fine. You just took me aback. We’d almost lost hope of getting her.’
‘Well, we haven’t got her yet unfortunately. The body of a prostitute called Loretta Marks was found yesterday at a rented house in Brighton. She’d been bludgeoned to death, and she was only 19 years old. The murder weapon is missing too.’
That doesn’t sound like Lacey, Gardner thought, vulnerable females are not her MO.
‘The house was rented to a man called Billy Shine. Heard of him?’
‘No,’ Gardner said.
‘Well, he comes from up near your way – Tidworth? He’s 28 and has been renting the house down here for the previous three months. No occupation and he does have a record for minor misdemeanours. Not sure where he was getting his money from because rent is pretty high round here at the moment. Local residents have pointed out that they’ve seen three different females coming and going from the property. There’s a lot of DNA and fingerprints from these three females and Billy Shine. The only match we have, apart from Billy, is Lacey Ray.’
Each time Gardner heard the name, it was like a bolt of electricity running down her spine. ‘What do you think is going on?’
‘We are working on the angle that Shine was trafficking these females. Something went wrong between Loretta and either Shine, a customer, or potentially Lacey. The sooner we can catch up with someone involved in this messy situation the better. As soon as Lacey Ray was flagged up, your office was all over our computer screens.’
‘I bet it was.’
‘I’m sure DS Jake Pettman is going to be concerned about this - that file made me cringe.’ Jackson said. ‘I’m the SIO on this case, so I’ve made the decision to send all the information over now, so you can assist us.’
‘Of course.’
‘If Billy Shine has run back up there, we need you to arrest him.’
‘In a heartbeat,’ Gardner said.
‘Have you got a pen? Here’s his mother’s address in Tidworth.’
Lacey had met many monsters in her time, but she didn’t remember ever meeting one of their mothers. So, she sat and considered Hillary Shine, the mother of the monster she wanted to find, and bleed to death.
What interested Lacey the most was how far the den had come to mirror the dweller. The ceiling was yellow like Hillary’s skin, and the wallpaper, drowning in damp, sagged like her eyes. Old radiators clunked in rhythm with her wheezing, while the stench of regurgitated alcohol hung over the living room with the cloud she was chain-smoking into existence.
Beside her on the old sofa, Lacey took her hand, and held it in her lap.
‘When was the last time you saw Billy, before today?’
‘Today?’ Hillary said. ‘I never said I saw him today.’
Lacey smiled and stroked her hand. ‘I just went to the toilet, remember? It wasn’t you that left the toilet seat up now, was it?’
Hillary cackled and exposed her teeth. Lacey wondered if a photograph of her at this moment could very well find itself onto a packet of cigarettes as a health warning. ‘You’re a bright cookie.’
‘Thank you, Hillary. I won’t pretend it hasn’t been said before.’
Hillary laughed again. ‘You know you remind me of myself when I was your age.’
Lacey held the smile, thinking, please don’t say that Hillary. ‘So, did Billy tell you why he’d come back so quickly?’
‘Of course he did! I’m his mother – he tells me everything.’
‘Did he now? Everything?’
‘Everything. He was having women troubles with a young girl called Sarah!’
‘Was he?’ Lacey smiled again.
‘Yes! And he needed a few days to get away from it all.’
‘With his mother, of course,’ Lacey stroked her hand again. ‘So where’s he gone?’
‘To meet Paul, his friend, at his place.’
‘Which is where?’
Hillary tugged her hand away. ‘Who are you exactly?’
‘Hillary,’ Lacey shook her head slowly. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m Sarah. I’m the woman that your young man is having trouble with.’
Hillary looked confused. ‘And you’ve followed him up here?’
‘Come on now, Hillary, you’ve heard that expression – hell hath no fury?’
Hillary smiled. ‘Like a woman scorned. Used to say that to John a lot while he was still here.’
‘So,’ Lacey continued, ‘can I get Paul’s address? Surprise him?’
Hillary creased her brow. ‘Surprise him? Maybe I should phone him first?’
‘But that would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes … I see … but what if he doesn’t want to see you?’
‘Let me show you something Hillary.’ Lacey pulled a necklace out from under her blouse. A silver ring hung on the necklace. ‘He gave it to me.’
Hillary took it between her crinkled hand
s. ‘He gave this to you?’
‘He did,’ Lacey said, ‘when he asked me to marry him.’
Hillary threw her arms around Lacey. ‘That’s incredible news … why didn’t he tell me? Why is it not on your finger?’
‘I like to keep it here.’ Lacey tapped her chest.
There were tears in Hillary’s eyes.
‘So, Hillary, can I get Paul’s address now, so I can go and see my fiancé?’
Yorke bolted up when he heard the knock at his office door.
‘Shit!’ How long had he been out?
He looked at his phone and realised he had switched it off earlier. Fuck! After switching it back on, he looked at his watch. Three hours!
He rubbed his face, adjusted his hair and opened the door. Gardner and Jake stood there. Both looked pale. At this point, he remembered his tears earlier, and so he took a couple of steps back in case they saw it in his face.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said.
‘She’s back.’ Jake’s voice trembled as he spoke.
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Gardner said.
‘She’s back. Lacey’s back. I’m telling you.’
Gardner quickly ran through her conversation with DI Jackson from Brighton. Yorke, too, was pale by the end of the briefing.
‘Jake, you have to go home.’
Jake nodded. ‘I literally sent Collette and Sean there moments ago.’
‘Does Sheila know they’re coming?’
‘No,’ Jake said. ‘They’ll be discrete and wait outside.’
‘Go home and talk to her now.’
Jake nodded.
‘Emma, we will head to Hillary Shine’s house, see if she knows where her son is.’
6
ACCORDING TO HER dead father, Gillian Arnold had one hell of a left hook. And he should know. He’d spent over twenty years of his life boxing semi-pro. Rather than the traditional hi-five between father and offspring, Ronald Arnold, also appreciated that left hook into the palm of his hand, even if it stung somewhat afterwards.
So, when a dishevelled man darted out of the dark, it was hardly surprising that she sent him spiralling into the air. After he cracked his head off a street sign, he lay sprawled on his back.
The snow was spiralling down, harder and faster now, soaking Gillian, but she felt no cold; maybe a sudden rise in blood pressure had helped with that?
A white Ford Transit van pulled up alongside the curb. The would-be mugger was rising to his feet. She saw blood smeared across his forehead where his head had bounced from the street sign.
The van door opened, and a tall man emerged. The mugger, realising that the game was up, broke into a sprint down Harnham Road towards the Rose and Crown – her place of work, from which he’d probably followed her.
‘Are you okay?’ The man said.
She’d still not seen him properly yet. The glare from his headlights was reducing him to a looming shadow.
‘No … I think someone tried to mug me.’
He emerged from the shadows at pace. ‘What happened?’
She noticed he was well dressed; a contrast to the shabby appearance of his van. His shoes were polished.
‘Not sure really … was just on my way back from work and someone came up behind me … quickly. I hit him.’
‘That’s awful. You did well! Put him flat on his back. Watched it happening on my approach.’
She leaned against a brick wall behind her and took a few deep breaths.
‘We need to get you to the police station,’ the man said. He took a couple of steps towards her.
‘No,’ Gillian said. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your night.’
‘Well, to be honest,’ he said, taking another step towards her, ‘my night is over. Went on a date and the date didn’t turn up.’
He was alongside her now. He wasn’t what she expected. His tired eyes sunk too far back into his aquiline face; his skin was pale, and this lack of colour was emphasised by the long, black hair blown straight and hanging to his shoulders. Despite this, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards him.
‘The perils of Tinder, I guess,’ the man continued.
She smiled. It was forced. Her body was still trembling slightly.
‘Joe Shaw.’ He thrust out his hand.
She shook it. ‘Gillian Arnold.’ His hand was ice-cold to the touch.
‘Well, I’ll give you several reasons Gillian, why you have to come with me to the station. One, I’m not leaving you here for that man to come back; two, you need to make a report, so it doesn’t happen again; three, it’s cold out here and despite the look of the van, it churns out some heat.’
Then why is your hand so cold? She thought.
‘Well, a taxi may be best …’
‘Of course,’ Joe said. ‘Am I okay to wait with you?’
Using his mobile, he conducted a conversation with a taxi rank. ‘Twenty minutes on a Tuesday night? Really?’
He hung up and looked at Gillian. ‘Short staffed.’
She nodded. The adrenaline was starting to subside now, and her wet jacket was starting to feel heavy and very cold.
He tried another. ‘Engaged … I’ll try another.’
‘Wait, it’s okay,’ Gillian said. ‘It’s only a five-minute drive. I’ll take your offer.’
He looked relieved and held the van door open for her. The seats were high, so she took a huge step and settled into the seat. He closed the door, came around the other side and climbed in. She glanced behind her and saw that the back of the van was closed off with plywood.
As Joe started the van, she said, ‘What do you keep in there?’
‘I work for a kennels, nearby. This is the van for transporting dogs to and from their owners. Don’t worry though, Gillian, there isn’t any in there at the moment.’
‘Wouldn’t bars be better?’
‘I had a problem with bars before.’
Gillian nodded. She expected him to elaborate; when he didn’t, she had to make do with an imagined scene of an Alsatian’s paw settling on Joe’s shoulder as he turned onto a motorway.
She looked up at the rear-view mirror that he clearly couldn’t use. A green pine deodorizer hung from it.
She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘No need to thank me. Have some sugar, it may help with the shaking.’
He plucked a can of lemonade from the cup-holder and handed it to her. It was already open, and a straw bobbed up and down in the liquid.
As Joe turned off the main road onto the street the mugger had run down only moments ago, Gillian put the straw to her lips.
The snow came down thicker now as they drove to Tidworth. The build-up alongside the country roads wasn’t yet such that a sudden miscalculation could send you spiralling, but Yorke was mindful of not pushing his speeds too high.
He looked over at Gardner who was tapping a message out – probably another apology to her husband for an impending late finish. Yorke sighed, and then realised he had his own apologies to make.
‘I have to make a call,’ Yorke said.
‘Fine, I won’t listen.’
Yorke smiled. ‘You better not.’
He called Patricia on the speaker phone and her voice boomed out. ‘Hello.’
‘I’m sorry Patricia, rain check on tonight.’
‘Predicted that. That’s why I’m still on my way to yours so you don’t come home to an empty bed.’
‘Before you go any further relaying your plans, you’re on the speaker phone, and I have Emma with me.’
Yorke glanced at Gardner, who smiled.
‘How far did you think my plans were going?’
‘Not answering that.’
‘Look, Mike, while you’re on the phone, did you check through that list I sent you?’
Yorke remembered switching his phone off. ‘Not yet, what did I miss?’
‘Shit, well, I think you should check it. We are leaning towards a blue-ringed octopus as the source of the toxin
which paralysed Jessica. The bite is practically microscopic, but we did find some slight discolouring on the back of her hand, which could be from the bite, or from a tiny injection.’
‘What the hell is a blue-ringed octopus?’ Gardner said.
‘A vicious little bastard that will attack without much provocation. It’s one of the most venomous creatures in the world, and it’s only the size of a golf ball! It got its name because its rings glow bright blue when it attacks.’
‘How long does its poison take to kill?’ Yorke said.
‘Usually up to ten minutes, but sometimes longer. Unless you get on a ventilator quickly, you die because your respiratory system shuts down; and even when the victim gets help, it’s still touch and go because there is no antivenom.’
‘And how would you get one?’ Gardner said.
‘There are three confirmed species of blue-ringed octopus; one from the Southern coast of Australia; another from the Eastern coast; and one from the Western Pacific Ocean. Australians are rounding them up to produce an antivenom, and they wouldn’t be hard to smuggle in, which is how we got the list together.’
‘List?’ Yorke said.
‘We contacted a range of tropical fish dealers within a 50-mile radius. Told them it was in their best interests to supply the names of any people they supplied these creatures to during last year. Most were compliant. Some will need chasing up. The list I sent has the names of these possible recipients. It’ll give you a starting point until you can get more officers out to the dealerships …’
‘I’ll get back to you soon, Patricia.’
Shit, why did I switch off my fucking phone earlier and fall asleep?
He threw his phone over to Gardner, gave her the pin to open it and she went through to his emails.
‘Read through the list,’ Yorke said. ‘Any name jump out?’
Within thirty seconds, she was staring at him with wide eyes.
‘What?’ Yorke said.
‘Billy Shine is on here.’
Gillian Arnold put the straw protruding from the can of lemonade to her lips a few times but didn’t drink any. She couldn’t. The stuff repulsed her. Pure sugar, preservatives, all in a syrupy liquid. Sent from the devil. Not the tipple of a triathlete like herself.
