by Helen Phifer
Her phone beeped and she read the text from Stephen.
Hi, just wanted to let you know Tom’s stable. Hope you’re okay, miss you and if you need to talk ring. I’m on my break.
Her finger hovered over the reply button: yes, she wanted to talk, desperately. Maybe she’d been too hasty calling it a day before it had even got going. He was a bit controlling, but he was also a nice, caring guy. Her phone went black as it died, making the decision for her. She’d reply tomorrow because by the time she’d had her bath and charged the phone he’d be back at work on the department, and she didn’t know if she was just being soppy because of the overwhelming amount of grief she’d endured tonight. She undressed, stepping into the warm water. There was something about a bath that was so much nicer than a shower. Taking a huge mouthful of wine, she lay back into the soft, scented bubbles and closed her eyes.
Lewis Waite lay under the partially collapsed stage. At one time it had held the bingo caller and the huge machine that spat out the numbered ping pong balls. Occasionally they used to have social nights back in the sixties and early seventies. Bands would play and the regulars, who included his mum and gran, would go and jive the night away. He’d listened for hours to the tales his gran had told him about her younger days. His mum had never had too much time for him; she was always at the pub flirting with anyone who would buy her a drink and he’d practically been brought up by his gran.
Even though the stage had a mouldy, moth-eaten curtain around it that smelt like a tramp’s Y-fronts, he felt comfortable; it was the warmest place in the draughty building. He’d made a bed out of the bits of cardboard that had been strewn all over, eaten four sandwiches and drunk the last of his bottle of whisky. It wasn’t as good as a hit of the old china white, but it had stopped the aching in his bones. He’d decided that until he found out who had killed Stacey, he was going to keep off the drugs, even if it killed him. The coppers would nail it on him and frame him otherwise; he had no choice. He’d done some bad shit in his time and he knew he deserved a lot, but what he didn’t deserve was a trumped-up murder charge and a fucking life sentence.
His life was a mess and it was ironic that it had taken something as serious as seeing Stacey’s dead body for him to realise it. He wanted to turn it around; he didn’t want to be like this any more. It was as if he’d finally had an epiphany, as if a light bulb had gone off in his mind so bright that it had taken away the shroud of darkness that had clouded his brain for the last eight years and woken him up. There had to be more to life than this; he knew there did. He couldn’t shake off the regret that he’d had it all with Stacey and thrown it away.
How had it come to this? He was currently Britain’s most-wanted man. He had nowhere to live, no money and one set of clothes. He would go to the homeless shelter first thing in the morning, or maybe the Salvation Army – get a shower, some hot food and a change of clothes. The Salvation Army was probably the best bet because they’d give him a sleeping bag as well, which would make kipping in here a lot warmer. If he did it before the newspaper headlines hit the billboards it wouldn’t matter if they reported him to the police. He’d be long gone, but at least he’d have some supplies. If he had to steal, beg or borrow to get him through the next few days he would, but it would be the last time. He was going to change his life once this mess was sorted out. He would show those coppers who’d looked at him as if he were the scum of the earth just what Lewis Waite was made of, and that underneath he was a decent human being.
Lucy towelled herself dry, pulled on her pyjamas and refilled her wine glass. She went into her bedroom and turned on the television; she hated a silent house. Every creak and groan of the floorboards made her jumpy. At least the constant chatter on the television disguised the normal household noises that nobody else would give a second thought to. Not wanting anything serious or remotely violent, she put the comedy channel on because laughter was good. Then she turned the sound down low.
How had her life turned into an episode of Luther? It was crazy and she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. What was it she’d said to the friend of that poor girl who’d been murdered by Lizzy Clements? The one whose body Mattie had dragged out of that filthy hole full of dirty water after he’d saved her life? That life was thankfully rarely like the television shows. But she had that wrong: her life was currently giving old Luther a run for his money. She started to giggle.
Bending down, she plugged the charger into her phone and held the button down to bring it back to life. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she finished her wine. She had that warm feeling inside and she was much more relaxed than when she’d come home. As the screen lit up, she remembered the message from Stephen but, switching the phone onto silent, she put it down on the bedside table. She’d text him back tomorrow – he’d be busy now and the wine had loosened her up. She might say something that she wouldn’t be able to take back in the morning when she was thinking clearly.
What she did do was open the brown envelope and stare at the sheaf of divorce papers. She knew that life was far too short to keep holding on to the hope that George was coming back. If this week had taught her anything it was that life was precious. She didn’t even bother to read the papers – she didn’t care about her share of the house or their possessions. She’d been the one to walk away after she’d found out about his affair. She didn’t want anything from her past life; the memories were too raw.
She picked up a pen from the bedside table and signed them, then put them back into the envelope. She would drop them off tomorrow. There was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. She dimmed the lamp then lay down, snuggling inside her duvet as her eyes closed. She felt herself sinking into the darkness and prayed there would be no nightmares as she tried to block out the faces of the Martin family.
Chapter Thirty-Six
When Lucy’s alarm went off she didn’t know if she could open her eyes; they felt so heavy. She scrabbled around to find the phone and turn the annoying sound off before she threw it out of the window. She lay there for five minutes, willing herself to move and letting out a loud groan when she finally did. At least she hadn’t had any nightmares, but her head was pounding from the wine and her mouth was dry. She ran downstairs and made herself a bacon sandwich and a large mug of coffee. The smell of the bacon made her stomach growl. She was so hungry she devoured it in a few mouthfuls and felt much better. Taking three paracetamol to clear her thudding head, she was as ready for the nightmare of a day ahead of her that she could be. Realising she’d left her car in one of the side streets by the Italian restaurant, she phoned Browning, who answered sounding even crankier than she had been when she’d woken up.
‘Morning. Can I have a lift into work, please?’
‘What time?’
‘As soon as you’re ready. I think Mattie might need one as well.’
‘You think right – he’s already texted and said we had to pick you up on the way.’
‘I’m impressed; thank you. I’m ready now, by the way.’
There was a grunt as the line went dead; she took it that he wasn’t.
As she walked upstairs to the incident room she saw the shadowy figure of a man in Tom’s office and headed towards it. She stared in shock at the sight of Patrick sitting behind Tom’s desk.
‘What do you think you’re doing in here?’
‘Morning, Lucy. Any news on Tom?’
She shook her head.
‘I’ve been asked to take over as temporary DCI – I’ve been waiting ages for the position to come up so this was kind of perfect.’
‘How is it perfect? Tom’s in hospital fighting for his life.’
Her fists clenched, Lucy turned and strode straight into the incident room, where Mattie had begun writing up another whiteboard. There were photographs of all the Martins with their names above them. She crossed over to her desk to see a steaming-hot mug of coffee and immediately felt better. Mattie turned to look at her and she mouthed ‘Thank
you.’ He winked at her, then turned back around.
Mattie soon finished writing down what they had so far and sat down across from her, waiting for her to speak first.
‘My head is a complete mess this morning. I can’t seem to get my brain into gear and it’s not for lack of trying.’
‘Well, that’s you and me both. Last night was pretty intense – it’s no wonder. So what’s the new boy doing behind the boss’s desk?’
‘Apparently he’d been promised an acting DCI role so he’s taking over for now, the prick. Come on, let’s get this briefing over. I’ll feel better once I have a plan of action.’
She grabbed the handwritten list of notes she’d made whilst waiting for Browning to pick her up and attached them to a clipboard. Standing up, she led the way down to the busy room. As she walked in, the loud chattering stopped. She knew she had a reputation as a hard taskmaster, but it got results so she didn’t care. She was fair and treated her team as best she could, given their workloads and the stress that they were under. Rachel was faffing around trying to get the webcam working for the whiteboard, but Lucy shook her head.
‘It’s okay, Rachel, you can leave it. I haven’t had enough coffee yet. It’s way too early to have to stare at this lot magnified on that huge screen. It will put me off.’
There was a murmur of laughter around the room and she smiled.
‘Right, let’s get started. Someone put me in a good mood and tell me that we have Lewis Waite back in custody waiting to be interviewed.’
She looked across at the duty sergeant whose responsibility this had fallen to, but he shook his head.
‘Right, so what’s the plan on that score, then? Because right now he’s our only suspect for Stacey Green’s murder and a person of interest for Melanie Benson’s.’
The task force sergeant spoke up. ‘I have a full team on today, dedicated to tracking him down and arresting him.’
‘That will do for me, thank you. I’m splitting my team into two: I want Rachel, Scott and Ronnie working on the Green case. I need the rest of the CCTV footage from the nightclub and any businesses that weren’t open yesterday need to be visited to check their cameras. One of you needs to go to Stacey’s place of work and speak to her workmates, see if they knew who she was out with, et cetera. You know the drill – report back to me with anything at all. Is that okay? The rest of you, do the same for Melanie Benson.’
They all nodded. The door opened and in strolled Patrick Baker, who smiled at Lucy and headed towards the front of the room to stand next to her. It took all of her self-restraint to stop her eyes from rolling. Everyone in the room was watching him.
‘This is acting Detective Chief Inspector Patrick Baker. He is a temporary replacement for Tom until he’s better and back at work.’
Several hands were raised. ‘What’s up with the boss?’
‘He had a heart attack last night at the scene of the next crime I’m going to tell you about.’
There were lots of gasps and she gave them a moment as they whispered among themselves.
‘He’s in intensive care, hopefully a lot better now than he was last night. At least he’s in the right place. Rachel will start a collection – if anyone wants to contribute, the envelope will be in the CID office.’
Patrick stepped up to the lectern. ‘I know it’s a bit of a shock for you all, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. In the meantime we need to concentrate on the tasks in hand. I’m aware most of you don’t know me so I’ll give you a little bit of background information. I’ve just returned from a five-year secondment to the Met’s major crimes division, so hopefully I’ll be able to be of some use. I’m not an ogre; if you need anything or want to talk then my door is always open. Right, I’ll let you continue and I’ll leave you in DI Harwin’s capable hands.’
He smiled at Lucy, then walked back out, and she didn’t know whether to be happy or angry. Tom would have stayed and helped her out, although she supposed there was nothing that Patrick could add at the moment because he’d still be catching up. There was a lot to take in; so much had happened in such a short space of time. She realised that everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to speak.
‘Right, so there you go. He’s Tom’s temporary replacement. Anyway, Rachel, Scott and Ronnie, you can go and get cracking. No point confusing you with the next part.’
The three detectives stood up and made their way out of the room. She waited for Scott to close the door, then continued.
‘For those of you who aren’t aware, there was a triple murder the night before last.’
She picked up the enlarged photos of the Martin family and passed them around. The room had gone deathly quiet, though there were several sharp intakes of breath as the pictures were passed to each officer.
‘The post-mortems are scheduled for this morning, although I think they will go on until this afternoon because of the number. Col, I know you’ve been busy working on Stacey Green’s background checks, but can you also make a start on the Martins’? Focus on Craig because Michelle was a stay-at-home mum and he was the main breadwinner.’
Col nodded. ‘Yes, boss.’
‘I want to know who they are, where they socialised, how much money they had in the bank and what they liked to spend it on. Did they have any enemies? What sort of business was Craig in? We need to figure out why a seemingly normal family were slaughtered in their own home, in cold blood. I want officers and PCSOs on house-to-house enquiries. They lived on a street with only three residences and one house is empty; the family have been abroad for months. The other house belongs to the DCI. So what I’m going to do is print out a map of the surrounding area and work out their most obvious routes home from the boy’s school, the father’s place of work, et cetera, and then I want CCTV enquiries and door-knocking done to see if anyone knew or had seen the family in the last couple of days. Is that okay with you all?’
Every head in the room nodded in agreement with her and she smiled. ‘Thank you. Now let’s get cracking.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lucy walked into the CSI office and smiled at Amanda. Jack was on the phone barking at someone on the other end. She was glad it wasn’t her on the receiver.
‘Where’s the new boy?’
‘Day off. Why?’
‘I just wondered. He’s been lucky, hasn’t he? A day off already?’
‘He has, but I can’t complain. He worked really hard last night booking in all the evidence. God knows what time he left. But I’m not going to be as mean to him from now on because I thought he’d have left it all for me and he didn’t.’
‘He’s a bit odd, though, isn’t he? He doesn’t talk much.’
Amanda laughed. ‘I know why he doesn’t talk to you much – that’s because you scare him. Although he was asking lots of questions about you, so you might have yourself a new admirer.’
Lucy’s eyes widened in horror.
‘Christ, I hope not. He’s only a kid; the last thing I want is to get into a relationship with someone young enough to date my daughter.’
‘Toy boy – why not? It could be fun.’
‘Or it could be a flipping disaster, more like.’
‘Anyway, enough about Toby: have you seen the new DCI? Of course you have, but you know what I mean. I’ve been smitten ever since I set eyes on him. It’s like my ultimate fantasy has been brought to life and walked into the station.’
Shocked, Lucy glanced at Amanda’s husband Jack to see if he could hear what she was saying. He couldn’t because he was still growling down the phone at whoever it was that was unlucky enough to have answered his call.
‘What did you want Toby for?’
‘I was just going to see if he was okay. I felt a bit sorry for him, to be honest. He’s only been here a couple of days and he’s had four murders to cope with. It’s hard enough for us and we’ve been doing this a long time. I just wanted to let him know about the counselling sessions he’s entitled to.’
�
��Lucy, what’s happening to you? That’s really sweet.’
‘I’m going before Jack bites my head off. You’d better be nice to him because he looks stressed.’
‘Nah, he’s always like this.’
Lucy turned and walked out, back to the incident room. She perched on the edge of a desk and stared at the pictures. Melanie and Stacey were both lone women out having a good time. She turned her gaze to the Martins. A family at home in bed, except for Craig, who had been working late. She squeezed her eyes shut; her fingers began to rub the sides of her head. Massaging her temples, she tried to release some of the pressure. On paper all of them were different, but her gut was telling her that the two women were connected. So where did the Martins fit in? Why them? What purpose did it serve to take out an entire family? How likely was it that they had two different killers in Brooklyn Bay? She wasn’t convinced that they did, but unless they had some forensic evidence to link all three cases no one would believe her because of the differences between them.
She realised that there was no whiteboard for the body that had been found in the woods. Why? That victim deserved the same as everyone else; she’d been there for a long time, but she still needed justice. She turned to go and ask Patrick where he was with his enquiries. Anger bubbled inside her chest at the thought that he wasn’t taking the case seriously.
Mattie came out of the gents and, sensing that something was about to go down, he strode towards Lucy. He grabbed her arm and led her away from the corridor where Patrick was watching them both through the glass windows of Tom’s office.
‘What’s up, Lucy? You keep acting weird, and why’s the new boy always eyeballing you? Don’t turn around; he’ll know we’re talking about him. I don’t like him.’
