by Helen Phifer
Lucy smiled at her. ‘You’re so bad.’
Catherine nodded. She crossed over to the CSI van, where Amanda passed her all the protective clothing she needed.
‘Have you got some gloves I can have?’
Amanda passed a box of bright blue gloves towards her.
‘Not like you not to have your own?’
‘No, it isn’t. I have a car boot full of them, only I was at the theatre with my husband and we went in his car. Poor bugger isn’t going to forgive me for dragging him out just after the show started.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I think he’ll understand when you tell him why – this one is really bad.’
‘You say that they’re all bad, Lucy.’
‘I know, but this is an entire family. There’s a dead boy up there lying in his bed staring up at the ceiling. He should be dreaming about playing football or being on a spaceship to Mars.’
Catherine nodded. ‘Come on then, show me the way.’
Lucy went first; Mattie followed. They would need to roll Craig and Michelle Martin to see if there was a gun underneath them, or any other injuries besides the bullet wounds.
Catherine took in the large, detached house with immaculate front and back gardens. It wasn’t so dissimilar from her own home. The hall was lit up and the décor was classy, all creams, beiges and touches of silver. Lucy led her upstairs to the master bedroom and let her go inside first while she waited at the door with Mattie, giving her some space to assess the scene.
‘What’s your take on it?’
‘I’d like to think that it’s a murder-suicide: horrific, of course, but slightly easier to accept than a stranger-killing.’
She put her heavy case down next to Lucy and sighed. ‘I’m getting either too old or too soft for this.’
‘You know I’ve heard you say that before – are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, just fed up of the tragedy in this town. Natural deaths and accidents are bad enough; there’s just no need for this level of violence.’
Mattie agreed. ‘Maybe there’s something in the water that’s sending people mad.’
Lucy looked at him. ‘I keep telling you not to watch so much television. That stuff isn’t real.’
Catherine squatted down to look at the body on the floor. ‘I’m afraid this is definitely not your killer. He was shot at close range from behind – it’s not impossible to shoot yourself from that angle, but it’s highly unlikely. I think that whoever did this must have been hiding, then crept up behind him. Help me roll him, Mattie.’
Mattie walked over and knelt next to Catherine. On the count of three they rolled him towards them. The front of his face was a bloodied mess and Mattie recoiled, almost letting go.
‘Roll him back.’
They gently laid him back into almost his original position. Catherine took Craig’s temperature, then looked at Mattie, whose skin tone was now pure white.
‘Sorry, I should have warned you his face would be gone.’
‘But how? The hole in the back of his head isn’t that big,’ Mattie said.
‘That’s because entrance wounds are typically round, neat holes. There’s usually a comparatively small amount of blood where the projectile enters. The bullet stretches the skin on entry, which then shrinks back to its former position. That makes the wound look smaller than the actual bullet.’
Lucy nodded. ‘I’ve heard this before – I’ve only dealt with one previous death by shooting and that was a suicide.’
Catherine continued. ‘In this case the bullet has hit the skull instead of passing straight through the soft tissue. So the shattering of the skull created additional projectiles of bone fragments, which then caused even more damage.’
Lucy nodded. ‘No gun underneath him?’
‘No.’
Catherine finished examining his body, stood up and crossed to the bed, gently lifting Michelle’s head.
‘Same thing here: shot at close range. Entrance wound is relatively neat, back of the head is a mess; it’s ragged and torn with lots of tissue extruding. This is why there’s so much blood on the pillows. Given the man’s body temperature and the fact that they’re both in full rigor, I’d say they’ve been dead approximately eighteen to twenty hours.’
Lucy spoke up. ‘That would mean they were killed last night. Tom said that he noticed the front door open this morning, but didn’t think anything of it because both cars were still outside.’
After taking samples and Michelle’s temperature, Catherine looked up from her endless forms.
‘Right, these two can be bagged up and taken to the mortuary when you’ve finished your investigations. Shall we?’
Lucy didn’t know if she wanted to go back into the boy’s bedroom and see the small, lifeless body of Arran Martin again. But she had no choice. The best thing she could do for this family now was to make sure no stone was left unturned.
‘Yes, I suppose we should.’
Mattie was shaking his head. ‘I wish we didn’t have to.’
Lucy led the way along the plush, carpeted hallway to Arran’s room. It was expensive material that cushioned every sound. No wonder Craig hadn’t heard his killer sneak up behind him; she supposed that in a way it was a blessing. At least he hadn’t known what was about to happen. Her stomach was churning so much that she felt the mouthful of wine and pasta she’d eaten threatening to come back up. The door was open so she let Catherine pass her as she waited there.
Mattie stopped next to Lucy. ‘Why? I mean, why the fuck would you do this to anyone, let alone a kid?’
Lucy didn’t answer because she couldn’t comprehend why in the slightest.
Catherine turned to look at them both. ‘Why indeed? It doesn’t matter how many times I see a dead child – it never gets any easier.’
She gazed down at the body of the boy tenderly and whispered, ‘Come on, sweetie, I won’t hurt you. I just need to take a look.’
Lucy had never heard the formidable doctor in front of her speak to anyone so gently and she had to furiously blink back the tears that were blurring her vision. Mattie’s hand rested on her shoulder. He squeezed it softly and all three of them mourned for the life of the boy, taken far too soon and far too violently.
‘Same thing again: shot at close range. Thankfully I don’t think he knew a thing, either, judging by the position he’s lying in. He must have been fast asleep. If he’d woken up he would have tried to run away and hide.’
She paused to catch her breath, then turned to look at Lucy.
‘You were right; this is really bad. I hope you find whoever did this and pretty quick.’
Lucy looked her straight in the eye. ‘Trust me, I’ll find them.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
As he tipped the piping hot food onto a plate his phone began to ring. He looked at the number but didn’t recognise it.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, is this Toby?’
‘Erm, who’s asking?’
‘It’s Lucy – Detective Inspector Harwin – from work.’
He punched his right fist into the air; it was as if by thinking about her he’d made her appear. He wondered how she’d got his number.
‘Hi, Lucy.’
‘Hi. Control gave me your number. Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. Would you be able to come out to a multiple-murder scene to help Amanda? Obviously you’ll get paid overtime; it’s just things are a bit manic and we need to get it processed as quickly as possible. I need you to go to the station and swab the boss’s hands, for gunpowder residue. Then you need to seize his clothes and book in the evidence as it comes in.’
‘Of course I can.’
‘Really? Thanks, that would be great and I’d appreciate it.’
She ended the call and he did a little dance. Lucy obviously liked him as well or she wouldn’t have phoned him herself to ask, would she? No, she would not. It looked like Toby was about to get what he wanted. He ignored the small inner voic
e that said being on call was part of his role as a CSI and that it didn’t mean that it was a declaration of her undying love for him. All Toby could think about was the fact that she’d phoned him herself and he couldn’t stop grinning.
By the time Tom and Browning arrived back at the scene, Catherine Maxwell had finished her preliminary examinations.
‘Well, once again I’m going to have to go home and be extra nice to Mr Maxwell. This is getting to be a bit of a bad habit, Lucy. He’s going to get used to it.’
Lucy smiled back at her, not sure what this appeasement would require and a little envious that she had a husband to go back home to and share the horrors of what she’d just witnessed. Whatever it was she had to do, she hoped Catherine was successful in her endeavour. Browning waved her over and she walked down to where he’d parked, as near to Tom’s house as he could. As her boss got out of the car wearing a white paper suit identical to hers, she felt sorry for him. How was he going to live the rest of his life wondering if it could have been him and his kids?
‘How are you feeling, sir?’
He rubbed at his chest. ‘Like I’m in a bad dream. I just can’t get it out of my head that my friends are all dead.’
‘I know. It must be an awful shock for you.’
Before they could continue, Alison came running out of the house screaming at Tom.
‘Oh my God, where are your clothes? Have you been arrested? Did you kill them? Was it you?’
The shock that crossed his face at the strength of his wife’s allegations made his already grey-coloured skin break out in a fine film of perspiration, and Lucy wondered if he was going to have a heart attack.
He turned and hissed at her. ‘No, you stupid cow – I didn’t kill them. I don’t own a fucking gun. What’s wrong with you, Alison? Get in the house, you’re making a scene.’
He took a sharp intake of breath and lifted his hand, clutching his chest. Then he collapsed to the floor with a loud thud. This set her off screaming even louder. Lucy dropped to the floor and ripped open his paper suit to get to his chest; the paramedics, who had been about to leave, jumped out of the ambulance and ran towards him. She began to pump his chest until they reached him and a strong pair of hands hoisted her up.
She heard Mattie’s voice: ‘Let the experts take over; they know what to do.’
She turned to look at him.
‘What’s going on? He can’t die as well.’
The high-pitched voice that erupted from her mouth was one of pure panic – she was losing it. She knew that she needed to calm down and behave rationally, but right now she didn’t know how. Browning was holding Alison back so the paramedics could work on her husband.
One of the paramedics looked up at Mattie. ‘We need to get him to the hospital now but we both need to work on him – is there someone to drive the ambulance?’
He nodded. ‘Me, I’ll drive.’
The woman threw the keys to him. ‘Bring it over here, we need to get him loaded on now.’
Mattie ran to the ambulance, did the tightest three-point turn and drove as close to them as he could. Whilst one of the paramedics continued working on Tom, the other got the trolley out and then they loaded him onto it, getting him into the back of the brightly lit van.
Alison ran towards them. ‘What am I supposed to do? I can’t leave the children!’
‘Phone someone to come over – I’ll take you to the hospital as soon as they arrive.’
Lucy owed Browning big time for that offer.
The paramedics looked down at her. ‘Are you jumping in?’
Lucy shook her head, though she wanted to. She couldn’t leave – that would be all of her best detectives and her boss out of the equation. She did what Tom would have wanted her to do.
‘I can’t – I have to manage the scene.’
She slammed the doors shut and shouted at Mattie, ‘Ring me when you have news.’
He nodded, then, turning on the lights and sirens, began to blue-light it towards the hospital.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mattie was pacing up and down the family room in the accident and emergency department because he didn’t know what else to do. Tom was only ten years older than him; he was fit, ate much more healthily than Mattie and ran every other day. You just never knew the minute your time was up. He hoped he was going to be okay because he was one of the good guys. What a complete mess tonight had turned into. He also felt bad for leaving Lucy on her own back at the scene. Despite everything the pair of them had been through, he’d never seen her so visibly upset in public and he didn’t like it. She wouldn’t have been happy about the others seeing that she was human on the inside, either. The super-cool, calm person inside her, who was usually in charge of every situation, would be having a mini breakdown and giving her a hard time. As soon as Browning arrived with Alison he’d go back to the scene to help her.
Tom’s wife was a pretty awful woman and he wondered why the boss put up with her. He supposed they must love each other, but after tonight’s goings on he wondered if Tom would realise what a dragon she was and leave her. The door opened and Mattie was relieved to see it was Dr King, Lucy’s almost-bit-on-the-side. He was okay, for a doctor.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
‘Oh, hi, Mattie. I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you Tom’s partner?’
Mattie stared at him, not sure what he meant.
‘Are you his next of kin – do you live together?’
Realising exactly what he meant, he shook his head vigorously.
‘God no, he’s my boss. His wife is on her way.’
The door opened and Alison ran in, followed by Browning, who nodded at Mattie.
‘Is he okay? Please, God, tell me he’s okay?’
Mattie looked at Stephen. ‘This is Alison, Tom’s wife, and this is Browning, one of my colleagues.’
Stephen stepped towards Alison, holding out his hand towards her, and she took it, clasping it tightly in hers rather than shaking it.
‘We’ve managed to stabilise him, but the next twenty-four hours are critical. He’ll be going into intensive care very shortly – by pure chance there’s a bed available. If he arrests again we might have to take him down to theatre and put a pacemaker in.’
She let go of his hand and held it to her mouth.
‘Hopefully he won’t, but I’m not going to lie to you: he’s very poorly.’
‘But he’s going to live?’
‘We’re doing everything we can to make sure that he does.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’
She began to cry and Browning, who looked like a fish out of water, did his best to comfort her. Stephen patted her arm. ‘One of the nurses will come and get you as soon as he’s comfortable and you can sit with him.’
He turned to walk out of the door and Mattie said, ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, Mattie. Is Lucy around?’
Mattie shook his head and Stephen went to leave. Browning mouthed, ‘Why’s he want Lucy?’
‘They’re very good friends.’
Browning rolled his eyes. ‘She’s a dark horse, is Lucy.’
All three of them sat in silence, Alison no doubt regretting her behaviour towards her husband in the last couple of hours. Mattie was worrying if Lucy was coping with it all. He suddenly stood up and turned to Browning.
‘Are you two okay if I go back to the scene? I feel bad leaving Lucy on her own.’
‘I was thinking that.’
The door opened and a flustered looking nurse smiled at them.
‘Mrs Crowe, would you like to come with me? We’ve made your husband comfortable now; it will be nice for you to sit with him so he knows that you’re here.’
Alison stood up and went after her, turning her head to look at them both. ‘Thank you for everything.’ And then she was gone. Both of them breathed a sigh of relief.
‘What a night.’
Mattie nodded. ‘Come on, there�
��s nothing more we can do here. We might as well go back and see what trouble Lucy has managed to get herself in to.’
Browning laughed and followed Mattie, who was already walking out of the door.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was just after midnight when Browning dropped Lucy off at her house. She looked up at the dark windows and wished there was someone waiting inside for her. What she’d do for someone to hold her close and tell her everything was going to be okay.
‘What a long night. Thank you for the lift.’
‘Are you okay, boss?’
Lucy nodded. ‘I think so – what about you?’
‘I’m going to be frank with you, Lucy; I don’t know if I’ll ever be all right after tonight.’
She knew what he meant; this one was going to be even harder to let go of. ‘Do you think Tom will be okay?’
‘All that running and healthy eating must kick in at some point. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Now if it was me, with the amount of crap I’ve consumed since Wendy left, I think my heart would have just given out. It goes to show that being a fitness freak isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. If your time’s up it’s up and there’s nothing anyone can do.’
‘Good night, Browning.’
She got out of his car and walked along the path to her front door. Once inside she double-checked that she’d locked it behind her, then reset the burglar alarm. Her stomach did somersaults every time she thought about Tom. She couldn’t get the picture of him collapsing out of her mind; it kept replaying over and over. Coupled with that and the image of Arran Martin, if she didn’t have nightmares tonight it would be a miracle.
She went straight into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine, then completed her nightly ritual of checking every door and window before tucking the bottle under her arm and going upstairs into the bathroom. She ran a bath; she was going to soak away everything and drink enough wine so that sleep would come regardless of what was going on in her head. She even lit the Jo Malone candle that Mattie had bought her for her birthday and she’d been saving for a special occasion. By no means was this a special occasion, but tonight she needed to remind herself that she was alive and had a beautiful life to be grateful for. Life was too short to keep things stuck in drawers to save for best.
