by Michael Wood
‘True. Give Scott a call, see if the woman who found them is ready to talk to us. She might know who the guests were. Then we can start eliminating people.’
‘Will do.’
Matilda paused at the bottom of the stairs. Jeremy Mercer was still slumped in the corner. It seemed disrespectful for him to have been left alone here with nobody sitting with him, but depending on what you believed, the person previously known as Jeremy Mercer was no longer here. He was dead. What remained was a shell, an empty body.
‘By the way,’ Sian continued, ‘we’ve found about a dozen digital cameras in the marquee. It seems there was one on every table and guests were invited to take snaps.’
‘I wonder if our killer will be on any of those photos. Maybe it was a fellow guest. Sian, get them sent back to the station. I want every photo downloaded and every person identified.’
‘That’s going to be a full-time job in itself,’ Christian said. ‘We don’t have anyone available for that.’
‘Then draft someone in from uniform,’ Matilda raised her voice. There always seemed to be some obstacle to every little task. ‘Sian, what did you want to show us?’
Sian led them into the kitchen where several evidence bags had been placed on the central island. They were sealed but through the little window, Matilda could see bloodstained clothing.
‘Where were they found?’
‘In the main bathroom. There’s a hooded sweater, jeans and a T-shirt.’
‘How do we know they belong to the killer?’ Christian asked.
‘We don’t, but, there are no stab holes,’ Sian said.
‘So, what are we saying, the killer comes in, murders three people and has brought a change of clothes with him?’ Matilda asked.
‘It looks that way.’
‘Are there any clothes missing from any of the bedrooms?’
‘I don’t know. We still can’t get in to have a look yet. I doubt robbery was a motive though. Have you seen some of the expensive stuff they’ve got down here?’
Matilda picked up the bag with the hooded sweater inside. It felt heavy. ‘Get this back to the lab. I want every centimetre of these clothes analysed. If they belong to the killer there’ll be something on here, a stray hair or sweat or something. Maybe even his own blood. The attacks were that frenzied I’ll be surprised if he didn’t cut himself.’
‘If he came here with the intent to kill, why not just stab them once each? Why be so violent if he’s going to have to change his clothes? He’s left us vital evidence, here,’ Sian said.
‘Unless …’ Matilda began, thinking aloud.
‘What?’ Christian asked.
‘Either, he’s really dumb and he’s basically handing himself to us on a plate, or, he’s incredibly smart and those clothes will give us absolutely nothing.’
‘And if they give us nothing?’
She thought for a while. ‘Then they’re a plant, and the killer will strike again.’
On the M1 motorway between junctions 28 and 29 was the Chesterfield Motorway Service Station. The bay for lorries was mostly empty. One was just pulling away, and the driver of another was exiting the coffee shop, carefully carrying his provisions that would tide him over until he was able to stop again.
At the side of the bay was a patch of grass with a few wooden tables so people could have somewhere to sit if they wanted to eat outside before continuing with their journey. As it was a freezing cold day in January and there was a fine drizzle in the air, most of the tables were empty. However, sitting at one of them, furthest away from the glow of the services, was a man, hunched over his rapidly cooling coffee. He was wearing a hooded sweater that was too large for him. The hood was pulled up and covering his face. When he heard the sound of a wagon pulling up behind him, he risked a glance.
A heavy-set man jumped down from behind the wheel and bent down to tie his shoelace. He was on his mobile.
‘I should be with you in about three hours, depending on traffic. I’ve been told there’s roadworks just outside Milton Keynes but I should be in Luton before five. Is that any good to you?’ He stood up and headed for the Costa kiosk.
The man waited until the driver was heading back to his truck before he approached him.
‘Excuse me, mate. You couldn’t give us a lift to Luton, could you?’
The driver eyed him with a frown. Usually when someone wanted a lift they had a rucksack or bag with them. ‘Who are you running from?’
‘No one. I got mugged yesterday. They took my bag. It had my train tickets in and everything. I had to take this out of one of those charity bins or I would have frozen to death last night,’ he said, pulling at his oversized hoodie.
‘Okay. Jump in.’
The man breathed a sigh of relief. He was surprised by how quickly he was able to lie, and how convincing he sounded, but he’d always been told he could talk his way into and out of any situation. He ran around to the passenger side of the truck and pulled open the door. He was smiling as climbed in. In three hours he’d be in Luton. From there he’d try and get to Dover and see if he could get someone to drive him through the Channel Tunnel. This time tomorrow he’ll be lost in Europe.
Chapter Seven
It was almost half past six by the time Matilda and her team were assembled for the evening briefing. It was a very sombre affair. The atmosphere was heavy. The whole room was quiet. Sian, who had a snack drawer full of chocolate bars and biscuits, pulled the whole drawer out of her desk and began handing out Mars bars, Snickers and Crunchies to anyone who needed a sugar rush, something to get them through the rest of the day.
‘Right. We’ve all had a bad day. I don’t think any of us has attended a crime scene like this one before. Now, I’ve been speaking to ACC Masterson and if anyone feels they need to talk to someone, anyone, in confidence, help will be made available to you. However, if you want to chat to me, my door is always open,’ Matilda spoke slowly and with determination. She had an earnest expression on her face. Who do I talk to about this, though?
‘Obviously, today has been a bit of a non-day. We’ve not been able to get into the house properly to have a good scout around. Hopefully, that will change tomorrow. Now, our first, lucid witness so far is Rose Bishop, who found the bodies. Sian?’
Sian had just put a handful of Maltesers in her mouth. She quickly chewed and took a gulp of tea to wash them down with. ‘Yes. Poor woman. She only went round this morning because she left a shoe behind yesterday.’
‘Did she say how many guests were at the wedding reception?’
‘She thinks about one hundred and fifty, maybe more. She didn’t know a lot of them, but she’s going to work on a list of the ones she did know. I’ve said I’ll pop round tomorrow morning to see how she’s getting on.’
‘That’s great, Sian. So, we’ve got Clive Mercer, his wife Serena, and their son Jeremy killed, and his daughter, Rachel, left alive for some reason. Scott, how’s she doing?’
Scott looked up from where he had been doodling on his pad. He hadn’t touched the coffee Rory had brought him or the Twix Sian had placed in front of him. He looked drained. ‘She’s in shock. She’s not responsive to anyone. It’s like she’s in some form of trance. However, she hasn’t been injured in any way and there is no sign of sexual interference.’
‘One saving grace,’ Sian muttered.
‘Unfortunately, we don’t know what she’s seen,’ Scott continued. ‘There’s probably a reason why she’s not talking. There’s a uniformed officer sitting guard outside her room all night. If there’s any change he’ll ring and let me know.’
‘What do we know about the Mercer family?’ Matilda asked. She looked at Scott out of the corner of her eye. It had only been a few months since he had been attacked by Steve Harrison. His physical injuries had healed quickly but who knew what was going on inside his head. Scott had always been the quiet one of the group. She didn’t want him suffering in silence.
DS Aaron Connolly approache
d the white board. He’d begun to stick photographs up. ‘Clive Mercer, aged sixty, was an anaesthetist and Serena, fifty-seven, a neurologist. Both worked at the Northern General. Jeremy, aged twenty-eight, was a junior doctor in Liverpool. We’re looking into their backgrounds, any known enemies, money problems, et cetera, but, so far, all the neighbours are saying they’re a lovely family. Clive and Serena raise money for local charities and the hospital. They’re regular churchgoers and both children are following in their parents’ footsteps. The perfect family.’
‘The ACC mentioned something about Serena being arrested last year while protesting about the trees being cut down,’ Matilda said.
‘Yes. Officially, Serena Mercer does have a record. In November while protesting in Ecclesall, she got a bit carried away and physically assaulted a bloke from the council.’
‘How?’ Sian asked. There was a glint in her eye.
‘She gave him a backhander across the face. According to the report, he went down like a sack of spuds. The whole thing was caught on camera and has over a million views on YouTube.’
‘Good for her. Bloody council,’ Sian said.
‘OK. I very much doubt this is some disgruntled council worker getting his own back after being embarrassed online, but, stranger things have happened. Pay the bloke a visit, Aaron, find out his alibi for last night.’
‘Will do.’
‘Have we managed to track down Leah yet?’ Matilda asked.
‘We’ve got a mobile number,’ Rory said.
‘Rose says she knows the name of the hotel they’re staying in in Paris but can’t remember it. She’s still a bit fuddled. She’s going to have think,’ Sian said.
Matilda took a deep breath. ‘What about forensics?’
‘Still at the scene. According to Sebastian Flowers, it will be at least another day before they’re through,’ Sian said.
‘Point of entry?’
‘Rose said the door from the marquee leading into the kitchen was open. The killer could have got over the fence at the back of the garden,’ Aaron said.
‘Anything missing?’
‘Nothing we can find so far. Maybe when Leah gets back from Paris she’ll be able to give us more information on that,’ Sian replied.
‘What about the clothing found at the scene?’
‘Nothing yet. It’s going to take time.’
‘Did any of the neighbours see anything suspicious?’ Matilda’s questions came faster. It was early days in the investigation. Unfortunately, the first hours were the most important. It was frustrating the crime scene was so intense they were unable to get into the house and have a good look around and try to understand the victims more.
‘The majority of the neighbours were at the reception. Apparently, the drink was flowing quite freely and most of them didn’t surface until they noticed flashing blue lights out of their windows,’ Rory said.
‘Which tells us times of death was sometime after the reception on Sunday night or the early hours of Monday morning. We need to find out what time the last person left.’
‘Rose said it was just after midnight when she left,’ Sian said. ‘There were still a few others milling around.’
‘And she was up and ready to go to work by ten o’clock?’ Rory asked.
‘She said alcohol’s never affected her badly. It doesn’t matter how much she drinks she’s always fine the next morning.’
‘Lucky cow,’ Rory said to a ripple of laughter from around the room.
‘CCTV?’
‘Some of the properties have cameras up. We’re working on it,’ Aaron said.
‘The digital cameras?’
Matilda had managed to snag a uniformed officer and recruit him as a trainee DC for the length of this case. Finn Cotton was in his early-twenties but looked to be in his late teens. He had the young fresh face of a children’s television presenter. He had strawberry blond hair and wore designer frameless glasses. The ravages of working through the night on a difficult murder hunt, surviving on a few hours’ sleep, missing meals and the stress of a dedicated homicide unit had not been felt by this man. Yet.
He looked up and cleared his throat. ‘I’ve uploaded all the photos and put them on an iPad. There’s over three hundred of them.’ His voice was soft with nerves at being the newbie in the group. ‘I’ve been able to tag names to those I know, but that’s only the victims and the main players like the bride and groom. I’ll need to go through them with one of the guests who’ll be able to identify them.’
‘I’ll have a word with Rose,’ Sian began. ‘As soon as she feels able enough, we’ll bring her in.’
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘Good work, Finn,’ Matilda said.
Finn smiled. His eyes lit up. He seemed pleased he was doing something right and hadn’t screwed up on his first day.
Matilda looked at the ashen faces of her team. ‘OK, I think we should call it a night. I want you all to go home, try and have a good night’s sleep and we’ll look at this afresh tomorrow. Again, if any of you need to talk, please do so. Do not let this eat away at you. Off you go.’
Matilda watched while the team slowly packed up and headed for the door. There were some sights you could never unsee, and the bloodbath they had all witnessed today would stay with them all for the rest of their lives. They would all see this through to the end, of that Matilda had no doubt; but how many would ask for a transfer, or resign when it was over? Aaron and Sian would stay, Christian too, but Scott and Rory were young. Would they think a career in the police force wasn’t for them? They had both been viciously attack in the past year or so. How would the hunt for a depraved madman change them? Valerie wanted this case solved at any cost. That was not going to happen. Matilda’s primary concern was for her colleagues. If they needed to finish early for their sanity, then so be it.
Matilda waited until everyone had left before going into her small office. She closed the door behind her and went over to her desk. She sat down and released a long, heavy sigh. Today had been a challenge, but they had all made it to the end pretty much unscathed. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
Matilda looked at her reflection in the laptop screen. She looked tired, was getting dark circles underneath her eyes, and her hair was dull and lifeless. She slammed the laptop closed. She felt in urgent need of a shower, or a long soak in the bath followed by a bottle of wine or two and a plate of something unhealthy. She lifted her hands up and looked at them. They were clean but, in her mind, they were covered in blood. She could almost feel it dripping through her fingers.
As usual, Matilda was the last to leave the office. She passed the white board and looked up at the smiling faces of the Mercer family. It was deplorable what people did to each other. Throughout her career she had met murderers who had stabbed, shot, hanged, run over their victims, but what she had seen today was depraved. Her phone rang. She looked and saw it was Sally Meagan calling her again. It was the fourth time today she had phoned, and each time Matilda had ignored it. She waited until the phone stopped ringing before putting it back in her pocket. She couldn’t put off speaking to her for much longer.
In a private room in Sheffield Children’s Hospital, Rachel Mercer lay in bed. Her eyes were wide open, and she stared at the ceiling. Outside, a uniformed police officer was standing guard. She could hear the distant sound of life continuing as normal. Nurses came in on a regular basis to see how she was. It was always a different nurse. They spoke to her, checked her breathing, her blood pressure, her heart rate, but she didn’t reply. She couldn’t.
‘Daddy, I’m scared.’
‘It’s all right, Rachel. Everything is going to be all right. Just keep your door closed. Pongo will look after you.’
‘Who are you?’ she heard her granddaddy ask. He sounded shocked. He sounded close.
Pongo yapped.
‘Quiet, Pongo,’ Rachel hissed.
She crept to the door and pushed down the handle. Slowly, she pulled it open jus
t a crack. Not wide enough for Pongo to escape, but wide enough so she could see out onto the landing, see what was going on.
There was a man. She couldn’t see his face as it was dark. Her granddaddy was on his knees. The man was holding him by his hair and he was stabbing him repeatedly in his neck. Blood was spraying everywhere. Her granddaddy was choking, gasping as each stab with the knife caused more blood to flow down his pyjamas, soak into the carpet, spray onto the walls. Rachel felt a warm splash of something on her face. She screamed. Her granddaddy looked her in the eye as he was thrown to the floor.
‘Rachel! Close your door!’ her dad shouted from somewhere.
Rachel couldn’t move.
Chapter Eight
It was pitch-dark by the time Matilda arrived in Bradway on the outskirts of the steel city. She parked her new Range Rover at the top of the drive and looked at it with a smile while she stood on the doorstep waiting for her knock to be answered.
The door opened and bathed Matilda in a warm glow coming from inside.
‘Matilda, this is an unexpected … erm …’
‘Surprise?’ She finished with a smile.
‘That depends on what favour you want.’
‘You’re a suspicious woman, Pat Campbell. What makes you think I want a favour?’
‘Oh, so you’ve come round for coffee and cake? You’re more than welcome. Come in. I’ll get out my photos for our holiday in Italy,’ Pat said, her reply oozing with sarcasm. The former detective inspector stood to one side to allow Matilda to enter.
‘You’re going to cut yourself with that sharp tongue of yours one of these days,’ Matilda said as she stepped into the warm hallway.
‘You’re holding a file behind your back. I may be retired but my detecting skills are still razor sharp.’
Matilda blushed as she brought the heavy file around to the front of her body.
Pat rolled her eyes and showed Matilda into the living room. It was minimalist and spacious, neat and tidy, yet homely. Anton was sitting in a recliner by the fire, feet up, reading the evening local paper. Wearing a grey cardigan, comfortable trousers and carpet slippers, he looked every inch the retired gentleman.
