Dead Inside

by Noelle Holten

  The rants did give Lucy insight into Patrick’s behaviour as an adult, though. For instance, she’d learnt that he was always getting into trouble as a child. A tearaway teen is how he’d described himself, telling her that he was always in and out of trouble – but never getting nicked. He believed he was too clever for that.

  Patrick was estranged from his family, but Lucy had caught him calling his mother a few times, ranting vile words down the phone. Eventually, his mother had changed her number and moved to the Isle of Man without giving Patrick her address. Even his family didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Another warning sign Lucy had ignored.

  At the start of their relationship, Lucy had blamed his family, but she now understood the truth and only wished she’d seen it sooner.

  Although Patrick had never told her directly, it was clear from his rants that he’d been physically abused by his father. Lucy also suspected other abuse, because Patrick had an extreme hatred for someone he called ‘Uncle Stan’. When Patrick had been barely coherent through alcohol one night, he’d told Lucy that Stan was never talked about by any of the family members. Although on occasions in the past when they all had met up, little snide remarks were made and Patrick would usually end up storming off. Eventually, he stopped going and the invites dried up. Lucy tried to find out more about Stan but, on one particular night, pushed too far and received a punch in the mouth for her concern.

  ‘Now will you shut the fuck up?’

  Lucy got the message loud and clear. When Patrick mentioned Uncle Stan now, Lucy stayed silent.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Maggie Jamieson stretched her legs and looked out the window of her office. It was getting dark but she was pleased with how her first day at DAHU had gone, even though she’d had to put in extra hours. The team had the perfect balance of banter and seriousness. Recent cutbacks made specialist teams a rarity, so Maggie knew she was going to get as much out of this experience as possible. Maybe Rutherford was right.

  After the Talbot briefing and interview with Wendy Parker, Maggie met with DI Joseph Calleja – Maggie guessed he was about five feet nine; he had a slim build and he had a shadow of a beard. The DI came across as a force to be reckoned with but a firm and fair boss. Calleja explained the overall workings of the team, and where each agency fit. The more she learnt, the more impressed she’d been. Calleja informed Maggie that she’d be reporting directly to DS Hooper.

  Maggie grimaced. Making her way to the communal kitchen, she reflected on the team so far. Her initial impression, during her first meeting with Hooper, was that he would keep her on her toes. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he had a certain look about him – stubble adorned his face and despite her colleagues warning her that he could be a right pain in the arse, he had a kindness in his eyes. It was good to know that he always had their back. That’s all she could really hope for. There was nothing worse than a boss who was only interested in furthering their own career, often to the detriment of their team.

  Maggie turned the tap on and filled up a cloudy glass with cold water. She also learnt that Probation Officer Lucy Sherwood would occasionally come to the police station with Mark, as he was the most experienced in working domestic abuse cases. Although Maggie had yet to meet Lucy, her colleagues had nothing but praise for her. Maggie was still trying to figure Mark out, though. She was curious why he joined this team as he had very strong, negative views about domestic abuse perpetrators and it seemed he wasn’t afraid to express them openly. She’d need to keep her eye on that. The last thing Maggie wanted was a black mark on her record because of something a colleague had said or done.

  Maggie returned to her desk and cleared a spot to place her glass down. Thinking about the rest of the team, she laughed to herself. Kat Everett, the mouth on that one. Every sentence seemed to have a fuck or a shit in it somewhere. Maggie wondered how Kat managed to get through court cases or deal with the public without a ‘fuck’ flying out of her mouth.

  Maggie was aware that a civilian, Dr Moloney, would also be joining the team soon to share her insight as a criminal psychologist and Calleja clearly admired her work. What really interested Maggie though was the multi-agency approach. She liked that this team had specific individuals from other agencies working directly with their nominals and based within the police station, even if it was just once a week. She’d see how this all worked now with their first murder investigation – how much collaboration really took place.

  Working at Markston Police Station would be a challenge, too. Markston was a relatively average size town, but the station was also responsible for covering Littlefield, Barston, and some of the more rural surrounding areas. Domestic abuse was a big problem in Staffordshire as a county, which was why the Police and Crime Commissioner had decided it was a priority offence that needed to be dealt with by a specialized team.

  ‘Any further updates that I need to be aware of before we call it a night, Mark?’ Maggie picked up her coffee and walked around to her colleague’s desk.

  ‘Well you know that Lucy called earlier today. She wanted to flag up Louise Millard’s address as Robert left probation a little pissed off. Robert is one of our regulars.’

  Maggie shuddered at the thought of what this description entailed.

  ‘Safe-and-well check then, I presume?’

  ‘Yep. All sorted. Two of the field team officers have been tasked with the job. Looks like it has happened, but the system hasn’t been updated with the full details yet. We can pick anything up in the morning from the log but, as nothing has been flagged, it must have gone OK. Any emergency will be dealt with by the field team tonight.’

  Looking over Mark’s shoulder, Maggie noted the long list of call-outs to the address. ‘Hmmm … so Robert Millard has recently been bailed for a breach of the harassment order in place?’

  ‘Yeah. Lucy will send me the details of their session today. She emails over any concerns, especially if she isn’t going to be at the police station any time soon.’

  After scanning the records, Maggie’s own experience with domestic abusers told her it wouldn’t take much to trigger Robert.

  ‘Do you know if Lucy contacted the victim’s support worker? Sorry, I know this is stuff you’re all probably aware of and doing, I just need to check, to satisfy myself before I go home. Once I’ve been here for a few days, I promise the questions will ease up, but only just a bit.’ Maggie smiled.

  ‘That’s OK. I get it. Lucy said she’d be contacting Sharon – oh, sorry, you won’t know who Sharon is. Sharon Bairden is the victim’s advocate connected to our team. You’ll meet her soon enough as she attends our operational meetings. I sent the details over to her as well. Always good to cover our asses.’ Despite being an integrated team, each agency worked on separate computer systems, so information was often duplicated.

  ‘So, although it has been one hell of a long day, it’s been a productive one and it really has been great getting to grips with things as much as I can.’

  Maggie could tell from Mark’s immaculately organized desk that he would have everything in order. She glanced at her own desk – organized chaos – and hoped Mark wasn’t OCD. She’d only been in the office one day and already it looked like she’d been there years. Despite this, she got the impression that they would work well together.

  Maggie felt her mobile phone buzz in her pocket. Pulling it out and seeing his name on the screen always filled her with dread. Why now?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Maggie stared at her mobile debating on whether she should answer it. She clicked to answer, putting the phone to her ear.

  ‘What have you done now?’

  ‘Hello to you, too.’

  ‘Cut the bullshit. I’m still at work. What do you want?’ Maggie stood up and walked out to the hallway.

  Glancing back into the office, she noticed Mark quickly turn and look at his computer screen. Maggie needed to keep calm and lower her voice; she didn’t want any awkward questions
that she couldn’t answer.

  A familiar whine reached her ears.

  ‘Sorry, I thought you’d be at home now, it’s late. Can I stay at yours? I’ve been thrown out of my flat.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. What have you done now?’

  ‘Nothing! I swear. The landlord has it in for me.’

  Maggie looked at her watch and sighed.

  ‘I’m done now. Meet me at the café on the corner near my flat. We’ll talk.’

  ‘Thanks, Maggie. Really – you have no idea how much this means to me. Should I, uh, bring my stuff with me?’

  ‘You can … but I’m not making any promises. Let’s talk first.’

  Maggie hung up. She saw Mark looking her way again, but ignored him and headed back to her desk so she could wrap things up for the day and get out of there.

  Why the fuck am I the only one he calls?

  He was already seated and tearing napkins to shreds when Maggie arrived at the corner café. This was a nervous habit from his childhood that seemed to have carried on into his adult years.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ Maggie gently tapped his shoulder.

  He nearly jumped out of his seat. ‘Shit, Maggie! You scared the bloody hell out of me! The waitress will be back in a sec. I already have a coffee on the way. I didn’t think you’d be here so soon, or I would have got you one too.’

  ‘Oh, right. How would you have paid for it, if I had changed my mind about coming?’

  ‘Don’t be like that, sis. It’s good to see you.’

  Maggie sat across from her brother and, despite her best efforts, her lip curled slightly into a smile.

  ‘It’s good to see you too, Andy. Though why is it you only call or come to see me when you’re in trouble?’

  The waitress arrived at the table with Andy’s coffee and took Maggie’s order.

  Maggie noticed the waitress had a pretty smile and watched her walk back towards the counter.

  ‘I see you still like the ladies then? Guess it wasn’t a phase after all?’

  Maggie picked up a coaster and gripped it firmly.

  ‘Oh, I see. You’re still in denial? Nothing wrong with being a lesbian these days, you know.’

  ‘Watch your fucking mouth, Andy. I’m not a lesbian. I date men! When have you ever seen me with a woman? Don’t bloody label me. Not that it’s any of your business anyway.’

  ‘OK. OK. Calm down. So, you’re bisexual. What’s the big deal?’

  ‘I’ve had just about enough of your shit, Andy. Enough, already. And keep your fucking voice down, will you … What I do in my personal time is none of your business. Can we move on now? We’re not here to talk about me.’ Maggie glared at her brother.

  Holding up his hands, Andy Jamieson admitted defeat. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was a sore subject and I didn’t come here to upset you. Is that Chopper case still getting to you? You seem a bit on edge. I’ve missed you, OK, and I thought if you knew that I understood about the … ladies … well, things could get back to normal with us.’

  Maggie waved her hand dismissively. ‘So, what is it that you really want, Andy?’

  ‘I told you on the phone. I need a place to stay. My landlord evicted me, and I just need to get my head together and sort out where I go from here.’ He was fidgeting and playing with the corner of the tablecloth.

  Maggie frowned.

  ‘Who do you owe money to?’

  Andy had a gambling problem and their parents had washed their hands of him years before. Maggie had bailed him out a few times but knew this wasn’t something she could keep doing. He was her brother though, and she hated to think of what he’d do if things got desperate.

  ‘No one! Why do you always assume the worse of me?’

  ‘Erm … because I know you! Why would you get evicted if you were paying your rent? And why aren’t you paying your rent if you have no other debts? You’re still working, right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still working – but I may have missed a few rent payments, OK? Seems my landlord is not the negotiating type.’

  ‘Here’s the deal then, Andy, and I mean this. You have four months. You need to be honest with me, but more importantly, with yourself. I’m guessing you’re back gambling and that has got to stop; I won’t be helping you out again. If you pressure me, you will find yourself out on the streets.’ Maggie knew she sounded harsh, but Andy pushed everyone to the limits and he had to know that this would be the last time.

  They picked up a pizza on the way back to Maggie’s flat and over the next few hours, Andy had told his sister that he owed six-thousand pounds to a loan shark for a gambling debt. Maggie didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Every week that he missed a repayment, the debt went up. His job at the factory wouldn’t cover the repayments, but he assured Maggie that if she helped him out this one last time, he’d pay her back.

  Maggie had eight thousand pounds in her savings and agreed that she’d pay back the debt on the condition that she could go with him to this loan shark. Maggie also stipulated that within the four months that he was staying with her, he was to do all the odd jobs that needed doing in the flat without so much as a moan.

  Andy had already depleted their parents of their savings and she wouldn’t let him do the same to her without getting something in return. He would earn the money and if he messed up again, she would cut him out of her life completely. It was tough love, but it was the only thing that would get through to him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Robert Millard was sick and tired of having his life controlled by others. A restraining order, a licence, and fucking women. He took another sip of Tennent’s Super and licked his lips as the first hit of alcohol took over. It was noon, so he was doing well. The shakes had kicked in not long after he woke up this morning, but he managed to hold off, desperate to prove to himself that alcohol didn’t dictate his life.

  Robert looked around the cramped bedsit. Black bin bags mixed full of dirty and clean clothes were piled in every available space. He needed to get out of this shithole or he’d go crazy. Picking up his mobile, he scrolled through the numbers until he came across the one he wanted. He pressed call. Let it ring until the answerphone kicked in.

  ‘Hey, it’s me. I know you’re there. Just pick up the fucking phone!’ He hung up and dialled again.

  ‘Quit playing games. I just want to talk. I want my stuff.’ He put the phone down. He felt the anger rise in him and grabbed another can. He pressed redial on the phone.

  ‘Fucking bitch! Pick up the phone or I will come round there and then you’ll be sorry!’

  Robert grabbed his coat and headed to the pub. He wouldn’t let that bitch wind him up anymore. Her new boyfriend could deal with her now. He needed to be around people who understood him. If Louise had called the police, they would go to Robert’s bedsit first, so he thought it best to get out of there. If he was going to spend a night in the cells, he may as well be shit-faced first.

  The usual suspects were propping up the bar when he walked into his local. He headed to the bar and ordered a pint of Stella Artois. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a £20 note. The last of his dole money. He hated this. If it wasn’t for Louise, he’d still have his job. A job he’d managed to keep for nearly four years. That bitch will pay one day. He looked around the room and spotted a familiar face.

  ‘Hey, Vicki. When did you get out?’

  Vicki Wilkinson had lived in the area since the beginning of time. Shell Baker, one of Vicki’s oldest and closest friends, was also a regular at the pub, though she was nowhere in sight right now. Robert knew that Vicki had a terrible temper in drink and often found herself in and out of prison for short periods for fighting. Recent changes in the law meant that Vicki and other offenders who were given prison sentences under twelve months, now had to report to probation following their release. Robert laughed inwardly – Vicki wasn’t going to like that one bit – and the laughter continued when Robert said he was on probation too.r />
  ‘Who’s your PO, then?’ The words were slurred, and Robert had to lean in close to understand what Vicki was asking. She’d clearly been drinking since the early morning.

  ‘Some bitch … Lucy. Thinks she’s hard, but I see her hands shaking … She’s probably a fucking alky!’ They laughed again.

  ‘Mine is Sarah something or other. She’s OK, I guess.’ Vicki shrugged. ‘You still married?’ Vicki tried to focus on Robert’s wedding finger to see if he was wearing a ring.

  ‘Nah. That bitch threw me out. Says I beat her when the reality is, she gave as good as she got. What the fuck am I supposed to do when she flies at me? Let her hit me? Fuck that shit!’

  ‘Ah, you’re probably better off without her. Gis a drink will ya?’ The crooked smile on her lips told Robert that Vicki was still up to her old tricks.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kate Moloney wasn’t your average doctor. In fact, she couldn’t be described as average in any way. Her goth appearance really did throw people when she introduced herself as a doctor. She was proud of her PhD in criminal psychology and didn’t care that people questioned her credentials based on how she looked. Pettiness or jealousy could rear its ugly head; it didn’t bother her.

  She looked in the mirror. Her long, shiny, straight black hair glistened as the sun reflected through the window. Pools of blue, her eyes were hidden beneath a dark, grey shadow. Her silver nose ring and deep purple lips made a statement that she wasn’t to be messed with. She straightened her perfectly fitted black blazer, wiped down her pencil skirt and slipped on her most comfortable combat boots.

  Dr Moloney had moved from her hometown in Galway, Ireland, to London so she could finish her studies. There wasn’t much need for a criminal psychologist where she lived and the jobs in Dublin were scarce. She’d made London her home away from home and managed to blend in nicely. But the move to the small market town of Markston, Staffordshire, was a welcome change to the hustle and bustle of life in the Big Smoke.