The Ex (DS Jenna Morgan)

by Diane Saxon

  At the questioning stares from her team, Jenna jerked herself back to the present. ‘Did he have anything to say about his kidnapping, stabbing member of staff who happens to be female?’

  Wainwright inclined his head. ‘He did. He was shocked. Deeply shocked. According to him, Emily is quiet, keeps to herself, is impeccable at her job. He knew about the problem with Zak. Thought Zak was a pussy. Nearly fell through the fucking floor when we put it to him that his sweet Emily may possibly have beaten a woman into a coma, kidnapped a child and stabbed an unidentified woman in the stomach.’

  Salter sent a bitter smile her way. ‘He may possibly have pissed himself when we stressed that had he acted sooner, these events may never have happened.’

  Wainwright’s dry tones interjected. ‘Aye, and then he shit himself when we reserved the right to come back to him for further questioning. He was on to his solicitor before we left the building. Bloody wanker.’

  ‘Wanker!’ Salter repeated, just to keep up his side of the double act.

  ‘Did he give any relevant information? Address? ID?’ Jenna pressed.

  ‘He confirmed the home address as the one Joshua was found at.’

  Jenna nodded. ‘Was there any ID on file?’

  ‘No. She was HR. There was nothing on her personal file, not even a birth certificate or driving licence.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Mason murmured from the back of the room.

  ‘Yeah!’ Salter nodded his agreement.

  Jenna raised a hand. ‘No one checks up on HR?’

  ‘It appears not. Not in this case. MD claimed she was so anal, she carried out every single job to perfection. Which was one of the reasons he was so reluctant to take action when Zak accused her of stalking him. He said he’d spent years trying to get a decent HR who would stay. He reeled when he took her file out and saw how little it contained. No mention of her being a stalker. Obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Salter made him aware that the responsibility of an employer is to ensure employees have had “right to work” checks carried out, Sarg. Just slipped it in there to give him the willies. Which evidently those checks weren’t done on Emily, or if they were originally, she’d removed them from her file.’

  ‘Interesting. How about next of kin on her file?’

  ‘None. No one on her Death in Service statement. She’d never spoken of any relatives, although I’m not sure Lowestoft would have bothered enquiring. He said she took some time off after Zak left. Came back to work as though nothing had ever happened, maybe a little more laid back and he believed nothing ever had happened. He certainly closed his eyes to it.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you. Obviously, SOCO are in the house as we speak and, again, they’re having difficulty finding any ID. When she bolted, she could have grabbed her handbag, there was no evidence of one in the house. Would she have a passport? Driving licence? Do you keep all of those things on you all the time?’ Jenna knew she certainly never did. Maybe her driving licence, but not always.

  The intel analyst raised her index finger and Jenna’s attention centred on her immediately as she looked over the top of her designer black-rimmed glasses. There was something about the woman’s cool, composed attitude that just commanded attention. ‘I checked the electoral register and council tax. The house is only in her name, electoral register confirms Emily Fern Shenton resides at that address. I’ve requested a copy of her driving licence, together with the photo ID. That was last night.’ She shot Jenna a tight smile. ‘I don’t expect they’d have picked that up until 9 a.m., so should we say mid-afternoon before we receive a reply to our urgent request?’ One perfect, straight eyebrow winged up. ‘I’ll get it to you the moment it becomes available.’

  ‘Perfect.’ As Jenna started to turn away, the slight rise of the intel analyst’s chin let her know she’d not finished.

  ‘In the absence of any evidence so far, and bearing in mind she has a driving licence, I checked if she has a car registered in her name. It’s a white Honda Jazz, registration number HB20 PRD.’

  Jenna gave her a nod and turned to take in the uniforms. ‘Could I have volunteers to check the streets outside her house? I don’t believe anyone has picked up on the vehicle yet. SOCO will be working their way inside out.’

  Two of the officers raised their hands and she sent them a grateful look, noting the intel analyst writing down their names against the job. If they slipped up, Jenna wasn’t going to have to follow up. Her intel officer had it all in hand. A secret admiration for the woman curled in Jenna’s stomach. Her efficiency had definitely started to pay dividends.

  Jenna opened her mouth to speak just as Morris King poked his head around the doorway. ‘Sarg. You got a minute?’

  She raised a finger to hold him there for one moment while she finished her train of thought out loud. ‘Harry Darling called through earlier to let us know that as Zak feared, there were no photographs of Emily on his new phone and he hadn’t saved any of them from the old phone.’ Why would he? It made sense.

  Jenna turned her attention back to Morris. Puzzled at the quiet interruption, she sidled over to the door, DI Taylor following her, and let the quiet buzz of voices in the room escalate while she turned her attention to Morris. ‘Hi, what’s up?’

  Morris’s thick black eyebrows twitched downwards. ‘I had a couple of things to distribute, so I thought I’d drop by personally on my way.’ He sniffed, his gaze intent on her. ‘I just took a call from The Princess Royal Hospital. That stab victim from yesterday…’ He poked out his bottom lip as he paused. ‘Turns out she’s disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’ Jenna’s voice pitched up an octave.

  Shit.

  ‘Yeah. Seems they went to check her obs and she’d gone. They thought at first she’d just popped to the loo or something, but when they returned an hour later, she still hadn’t returned.’

  Shit. Double shit.

  Jenna tilted her head to one side. ‘I don’t understand. We had someone there, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, but our victim had been moved to a general ward, so the officer was outside the entrance. Never saw anyone come in or out during the night. Claims to have gone to grab a coffee and visit the toilet earlier. Says he never thought to check the bay as all the curtains were round each bed and he didn’t want to disturb the other patients. As the victim had been heavily sedated from her operation, he said it never occurred to him that she wasn’t there. He had no reason to believe she’d have the interest or energy to abscond.’

  DI Taylor leaned over her shoulder. ‘Apart from the very real possibility that she’d kidnapped Joshua Cheetham-Epstein and knew she was in hot water. I’ll have a word with him. Who was it?’

  ‘PC Rankin, sir.’

  Taylor drew in a long breath through his nostrils. ‘That’s not like him. Phil Rankin is normally very astute. Bugger. We’d better get some uniforms deployed to look for her. Full description, what she was last seen wearing, when she was last seen. What state she was in.’ Taylor’s harnessed fury vibrated through the thick shoulder he leaned against her, the clean scent of his cotton shirt wafted over her in a cloud of heat.

  ‘Thank you, Morris.’ Jenna swung around to face the room.

  ‘One more thing.’ She spun on her heel back to Morris. ‘Apparently, they checked the bathrooms in case she’d collapsed, and they found a discarded gown, a handbag and contents scattered on the floor and a rucksack. It appears she may have stolen them from other patients. PC Rankin’s looking into that right now.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Morris pulled the door closed and both Jenna and Taylor faced their audience, who fell silent.

  ‘Right. We need to get onto this. This is urgent. We’ve just received information that our stab victim of yesterday has disappeared from the hospital. I need the hospital CCTV checking. See what she wore, when she left. Where did she go? Was she picked up? Did she hop on a bus? Did she get in a taxi? We need to trace this woman. We still have no ver
ification of her ID, so we don’t know who the bloody hell she is or where she lives.’

  Ryan raised his hand.

  DI Taylor never even bothered to sigh. ‘Yes, DC Downey.’

  ‘How long ago did she disappear? How much of a jump has she got on us?’

  Taylor rolled his lips inwards, irritation sparking. ‘We haven’t pinned that information down yet, but I’ll be dealing with it shortly.’ He whistled air out through his teeth before he addressed the new intel analyst. ‘Any new information you gather, bring it straight to me or DS Morgan.’ At the flick of her eyebrow, he indulged in a quick smile of appreciation. ‘I know. You’re on it.’ He checked to make sure he still had their attention and gave one short, sharp clap. ‘Right, we need to get a trot on. DS Morgan, who is currently watching over the safe house?’

  ‘PCSO Dalton, sir. Harry and I are about to go and relieve him.’

  Harry raised her hand. ‘Zak requested we allow him to his house to pick up changes of clothes for Joshua and himself. By the time we got back from Southmead last night, it was too late and apparently his dad hadn’t exactly excelled in the area of providing for his grandson.’ Her lips twisted in sour amusement. ‘DC Ellis had provided a set of clothes and plenty of nappies, but Joshua needs a lot more and his own toys and such to keep him entertained. I offered to go out and buy replacements, but Zak said he wanted Joshua to have his own stuff, make him feel less anxious about all the changes. It’s bad enough not having his mum about and being in a strange house, without having to do without his own clothes, with his own scent on them and possibly his mum’s, for comfort.’

  Taylor inclined his head. ‘I can understand that. Very well. DS Morgan, DC Ellis, DC Downey. You can all go. Ellis and Downey, you stay with the child at the safe house.’

  ‘Sir, I don’t think Zak will want to leave Joshua. He’s hugely protective of him and very anxious not to have him out of his sight.’

  ‘Quite frankly, Harry, I don’t give a damn. That child is under police protection, which overrides, in this case, any rights his father has. Joshua stays at the safe house under the protection of DCs Ellis and Downey. DS Morgan and you will accompany Mr Cheetham-Epstein to his house, where you will not stay for coffee, but whisk in, gather up all essential items and return to the protection of the safe house in quick-smart time. I have confidence that you’ll handle it with diplomacy and tact, as you always do, together with a great deal of speed.’

  Harry nodded, the calmness in her gaze showing she took no insult at the direct instructions. It was her job. He was the boss. Nothing he said was unreasonable, nor something she could disagree with.

  Jenna made her way back to Donna’s desk, where she’d left her handbag. She swiped it up and caught Mason’s and Ryan’s gazes as she made her way to the front of the room again, confident she could leave the rest of the team under Taylor’s remaining instructions. Someone may just suffer the fury of his wrath.

  44

  Wednesday 14 July, 09:20 hrs

  Emily cracked open her eyelids as the sun beat down on her. It had risen so high while she’d dozed. Dozed possibly wasn’t the right word. She’d fallen into a heavy sleep, her backside wedged deep into the hedgerow. A quiet neighbourhood it may be but she couldn’t believe no one had spotted her.

  She rolled over onto her knees and pushed her way to her feet as she grunted in agony. Her whole body throbbed under the stretched cotton pyjamas, sweat seeping through to saturate under her armpits and in between the crotch where she’d been curled into a tight ball. So stiff she could barely straighten. Her knees protested, crackling their objection. She pushed her shoulders back and regretted it immediately as the pull on her stomach shot burning stakes through her body, setting her blood on fire.

  ‘Fuck.’

  She peered along the road to where the PCSO clambered into a car, head down in the footwell as though he was looking for something.

  Emily took her opportunity and hobbled across the road, every move shot pain through her. She kept low and made her way up the garden path to the front door, unable to risk the side gate, which was nearer to the PCSO’s car.

  Her breath came in panicked snatches as she rammed the key in the lock, missed and then pushed it in with trembling fingers, supporting one hand with the other. She huffed out a quick sigh of relief that she’d selected the right key. There was only a choice of four and one of them was the key to the Audi.

  With a rapid glance over her shoulder, she slipped through the doorway, just as the vibrant yellow jacket backed its way out of the car.

  Brown blood splatter smeared up the wall and across the Victorian tiles of a passageway littered with small, white markers. Emily narrowed her eyes, her lips tightened as she skimmed the tips of her fingers over the dried-on blood. Strange how it had reached so much higher than she’d remembered.

  She drew her hand away and stared at her fingertips. Tiny brown flakes scattered across her skin and dropped to the floor. She tilted her head to one side, idle curiosity giving way to a stirring anger as she brushed them off and watched them drop to the floor where she’d left Imelda.

  ‘I hope you die.’

  The darkness swirled inside her stomach, giving a boost to her energy as she picked her way along the hall, the cool of it a relief from the heat of the day outside.

  Pain throbbed through her head as she squinted at the vastness of the cupboards lining the kitchen. She threw open the first floor-to-ceiling one and stared at the racks inside, jealousy poking a sharp nail into her. It was all too much, this display of wealth and opulence.

  Her jaw clenched. ‘A lot of good your wealth and opulence did you. You self-satisfied cow bag.’

  Neat rows of tinned food, soup, tomatoes, puree, all lined up on the top shelf with their labels facing forward. She was lucky if she managed to identify the crap she had in her cupboard. She mainly lived on takeout’s and ready meals from Tesco.

  The second shelf was stacked neatly with baby food. ‘That won’t be around much longer.’ Tempted to sweep the whole lot into the bin, she raised her arm and grunted out as the stretch wrenched at her strained muscles. ‘Ah, shit.’

  Instead, she reached into the basket below, with the family-sized packets of crisps neatly wedged one behind the other. She ripped open the Kettle’s sea salt crisps and crammed a handful in her mouth, breathing in through her nose as her stomach clenched to remind her she’d not eaten for an age. Possibly days. Her mind drew a blank as she stuffed in more, the salt satisfying the craving her body evidently had to replace the minerals she’d leached out in sweat and dehydration from the alcohol.

  She circled around, leaving the cupboard wide open behind her while she pushed more crisps in, chomping down on them open-mouthed so crumbs spittled from her lips to flurry across the floor.

  She narrowed her eyes as she headed towards the perfectly neat, filled wine rack, each of the red-wine bottles label up, not one of them she’d recognise or afford. She could only stretch to a cheap rosé when it was on offer.

  None of them with a screw lid.

  She took hold of the neck of one bottle and half pulled it from the rack. Châteauneuf du Pape. She yanked it the rest of the way out and placed it on the thick oakwood kitchen counter in front of her.

  As she opened one drawer after the other, she poked her bottom lip out, irritation curdling in her stomach. ‘Where the hell do you keep your corkscrew?’

  Without stopping, she threw the next one and then the next one open until she came closer to the gas hob.

  Sunlight blasted into the next drawer as she flung it open, and it bounced on its hinges.

  Emily paused. She tilted her head, her gaze transfixed by the refraction of light skimming off the six-set of sharp stainless-steel knives graduating from small paring knife all the way through to a long-bladed carving knife.

  The spit dried in her mouth, all thoughts of finding a corkscrew evaporated like the wisps of a cloud on a hot day.

  She turned he
r head and gazed at the vista beyond the window across the Ironbridge gorge, then up at the cloudless sky, washed-out denim-blue as though the sun had scorched the colour from it.

  Her fingers itched to pick up the knife. The long, wickedly curved, carving knife. If Fern was there, she’d whine in her ear, tell her not to touch it.

  But Fern isn’t here, the reassuring voice murmured.

  Emily’s lips curved in a self-satisfied smile.

  You killed her. The pathetic soul. She can’t command you any more. You can do what you want.

  She curled her fingers around the sleek, black handle and pulled the knife from the drawer.

  Fascinated by the glint of sunlight bouncing from it, Emily slid one tentative finger along the flat of the blade from hilt to tip, letting out an almost silent hiss as the edge sliced a paper-thin cut into the tip of an already broken nail.

  She stared at her forefinger and waited for a bloom of blood. As none came, she inspected her finger closely. It was only the nail she’d caught.

  While she paused, exhaustion seeped back into her body and Emily turned from the kitchen counter, wine long forgotten as the knife she gripped in her hand became more important.

  Too heavy, she flopped her hand to her side, her feet dragged as she shuffled back out of the kitchen and looked up the long flight of stairs to the sunlight streaming onto the landing above.

  She trembled as she sank down on the third step from the bottom, her heart hammering in her chest, excitement and trepidation entangling to ball in her stomach and making it burn.

  All she needed to do was wait for Zak to come home. She could explain everything.

  He used to love you. He’ll understand. He’ll love you again. Husky encouragement drifted through her mind as she rested her hand with the knife on the step above, her gaze fixed to the blade.