by D. S. Butler
“We will have the warrant soon,” Brookbank said. “Then it won’t be a problem.”
Brookbank shifted his dark blue eyes to Collins. “What have you got to report, Collins?”
“I’ve been going through the list of ex-students and faculty members. I’ve found that a few of the old students have records, mainly for minor things — shoplifting, drunk driving and a couple of domestic disturbances. But I haven’t found anything that would lead me to believe one of them is our potential killer.”
Brookbank nodded. “What about the family of the hanged boy? Any indication that he was bullied? Perhaps family members out for revenge?”
“I’ve looked at his immediate family. His parents and both brothers emigrated to Australia in nineteen ninety-five for a fresh start. Although there are still friends and extended family in the area.”
Brookbank scowled. “Right. Follow it up.”
Eventually he shifted his attention to Charlotte. “Where are we regarding the antivenom orders?”
“I’ve had Evie helping me with this,” Charlotte said. “We’ve compared names on the dangerous wild animals licence list with people who have purchased antivenom in the last year. Then we looked for any matches with our list of ex-pupils from St George’s.” Charlotte took a breath, then picked up a biro from the table and circled the name on the printed sheets in front of her. “We’ve got a name.”
Brookbank looked up and the energy in the room seemed to shift.
“His name is Lloyd Hughes. He went to the same school as Beverley Madison, Joe Griffin and Troy Scott. He had a dangerous wild animals licence five years ago, and he purchased a stock of antivenom just six months ago.”
Brookbank’s face spread into a cold smile. “Excellent work,” he said. “That’s our link. Bring him in.”
***
Mackinnon stared angrily at his computer screen, frustrated beyond belief. Every thirty seconds, his eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Charlotte had gone to Lloyd Hughes’ address with the response team, but DCI Brookbank wanted him to stay at the station and look into Lloyd Hughes’ background.
He wondered what was happening now. Surely they must have arrived at the scene already. Was Lloyd Hughes there? Or did he operate out of another address? The address registered with the DVLA indicated that he was still living with his mother. But it was possible that Lloyd Hughes had another address, one that wasn’t on the public record. Maybe he stayed with a girlfriend or shared with a friend.
It wouldn’t be long before Charlotte reported back, but the wait was killing him. The minutes seemed to drag by as he tried to focus on the computer screen. He knew as well as anybody that this part of the job was just as important as being there for the raids and the takedowns. It was the behind-the-scenes painstaking research and combing through all the details that meant the CPS would be able to successfully prosecute. He knew all that, but he still hated being the one left behind at the station.
From his seat in the incident room, Mackinnon could see directly into Tyler’s office. DCI Brookbank was in there. His back was to Mackinnon as he looked through DI Tyler’s notes and his daybook, trying to piece together what had happened to Tyler last night. They still had no idea why Tyler had visited Troy Scott last night.
Troy Scott had been on the list of people to be questioned, but it was against procedure for Tyler to go alone.
Mackinnon knew better than anyone that Tyler wasn’t exactly a stickler when it came to procedure. He liked to operate outside the rules sometimes, but he was a good officer and wouldn’t have put himself at risk. He found it hard to believe that if Tyler had stumbled across some new information he would have just gone around to see Troy Scott without telling anyone.
Only this morning, Charlotte had told him that Tyler had been separated from his wife for the past six months. Mackinnon had had no idea. Tyler wasn’t exactly the sharing type. He had been looking tired lately, like things had been grinding him down, and Mackinnon regretted not reaching out and offering him a little bit of support.
Mackinnon’s phone rang and he snatched it up from the desk. Chloe’s name flashed on the screen, and he pressed the green button to answer the call.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Chloe didn’t often call him during the day. She worked full-time at one of the Oxford colleges and her job kept her frantically busy. She wasn’t the type to call him during office hours just for a chat, so her phone call in the middle of the morning worried him.
“I just had a call from Katy’s school.” She sounded worried.
“Is she ill?”
“No, but she’s been sent home.”
A flash of anger ran through Mackinnon. His first thought was that the girls who had been ganging up on Katy were involved and the situation had developed into physical bullying.
“Did they hurt her? Is she all right?”
“It’s not that,” Chloe said. Her voice sounded stressed. “Katy has been sent home from school for bad behaviour.”
“Bad behaviour? Katy?” That didn’t sound right at all. She was the amiable one, the hard-working one. She never caused any trouble and was the complete opposite of her sister, Sarah.
“What is she supposed to have done?”
“The headmistress phoned me. She said she didn’t want to get into it over the phone, but she indicated that Katy had caused harm to another student. To be honest, I was so shocked when she called, I didn’t really ask the right questions. I’m just about to leave work now and go and pick her up.”
“Right,” Mackinnon said, raking a hand through his hair. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
“The headmistress wants me to go in tomorrow morning for a meeting and discuss Katy’s situation. Can you come? I think it would really help if we put on a united front and persuade her that Katy’s got a stable home life and supportive parents. Whatever mess she’s gotten into I don’t want this to be on her school record, Jack.”
Mackinnon leaned back in his chair. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. With Tyler in the hospital, the investigation was severely short-handed, and they were so close to an arrest. But of course he couldn’t say no.
“What time is the meeting? I’ll make sure I’m there.”
32
I DETESTED GOING TO visit my mother. I never thought I would feel like that, and I hated the care home for making me dread the visits. I could never relax. They were always watching. They spoke in sickly sweet voices, falsely cheerful, pretending to be friendly when really they were spying on me.
I’d brought a bunch of flowers with me, picking them up from the convenience store opposite the care home. I hadn’t much time so I’d grabbed the first bunch I’d seen. I looked down at the straggly bunch of pink carnations in my hand. They wouldn’t have been my first choice if I’d had more time, but I’m sure my mother would appreciate the sentiment anyway.
As I walked inside the care home, I was immediately surrounded by the stuffy warm air, laced with the smell of boiled vegetables. They had the radio on at the reception. Some kind of cheery Christmas song was blasting out of the speakers, the kind of song they play year after year until everyone is driven mad by it.
Sheila, the nurse I recognised from last time, got up from her chair behind the reception desk as I walked in. She pushed the visitors’ book towards me. That’s another irritation: the ridiculous fact that I have to sign a book when I want to see my own mother. But I bit my tongue, picked up the blue biro and scribbled my name in the box that Sheila pointed to.
“Have you seen this?” Sheila asked and pushed a small leaflet towards me, which had a cheap clip art image of a Christmas tree printed on it. “We’re putting on Christmas lunch,” she said. “We have space for a small number of relatives. I thought you might like to spend Christmas here with your mother. We do ask a small amount to cover the costs for non-residents.” She pointed at the figure printed on the leaflet below the Christmas tree. Twenty pounds. What a rip-off!
&n
bsp; I held my breath, so I didn’t say something I would regret later.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I snapped after a pause, and the smile dropped from Sheila’s face.
I intended to have my mother home by Christmas. There was no way we were going to spend Christmas here in this awful place.
“Let me show you to her room,” Sheila said, walking around the counter towards me.
“I know the way. I have been here before.”
“Yes, but we have had to move your mother since you last visited.”
“You moved her?” The place was an absolute joke. She’d only just gotten settled. Didn’t they know how traumatic it was to get used to your surroundings and then have everything moved around again? I shook my head.
“Yes, she’s got a nice room now. It’s larger and looks out onto the back gardens rather than the main road.”
“For goodness sake,” I muttered.
Sheila was either oblivious to the furious expression on my face or deliberately ignored it. She opened a fire door onto a stairwell.
“You’ve put her upstairs?” My mother was perfectly capable of getting around herself, but stairs did give her trouble, and I hated the idea of her being stuck upstairs all the time. “What if she wanted to go out into the garden? She liked to walk around the grounds.”
Sheila looked at me and wrinkled her nose. “It’s December, dear,” she said as if that should quench all my protests.
Unbelievable. Did that mean as soon as summer was over they bundled all the residents indoors and refused to let them out again until spring?
My mother had always liked the outdoors and scarcely a day went by when she didn’t go for a walk or potter in the garden.
The wave of guilt that rushed over me was overwhelming.
I gritted my teeth and followed Sheila upstairs.
Upstairs was even hotter. The radiators were blasting out heat. I shrugged off my coat, unable to bear it any more.
“This is her room,” Sheila said in a sing-song voice.
Tucking my coat over my arm, I reached for the handle of the door to let myself in, but Sheila was quicker and pushed open the door and walked in before me.
“You’ve got a visitor, sweetheart,” Sheila said in a patronising voice more suitable for addressing a child than a seventy-five-year-old woman.
My mother was sitting in a chair by the window. She had always been slim, but now her frame seemed impossibly frail. She hunched over in the blue velvet wing chair.
Her eyes swung towards me, and I felt a flutter of hope in my chest as I saw a dawning recognition in her eyes. Her mouth spread into a wide smile. “Hello, darling,” she said.
My annoyance with Sheila was forgotten as I quickly crossed the room to my mother’s side and gently kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mum. How have you been?”
“She recognises you. That’s nice, isn’t it?” Sheila interrupted.
I didn’t bother to answer. I glanced down at my mother’s hands, which were still bandaged, although not as heavily as before.
“How are your hands, mum? Are they getting better?”
My mother stared down at her hands and then blinked as if she was surprised to see that they were wrapped in bandages. She raised her hand and studied it carefully. She shrugged.
“Mustn’t grumble,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll be right as rain in no time.”
She smiled up at me. “Anyway, sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to.”
I smiled back and perched on the edge of her bed.
“I’ve not seen you in ages, Alex. What kept you away?”
My breath froze in my lungs, and in the silence that followed I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Tears started to sting my eyes.
Sheila’s voice piped up, breaking the awkward silence. “Try not to let it bother you. They tend to confuse siblings. She’ll probably recognise you later. It’s very common.”
My whole body was tense, and I longed to turn around and tell Sheila just what I thought of her inane twittering.
“We will be fine now,” I said in a cold voice. “I’m sure you’ve got lots to do.” I turned my back on her and didn’t bother to turn around when she said goodbye and stepped outside.
I noticed that she didn’t shut the door behind her.
“It’s not Alex, Mum,” I said. “It is me, Nicky.”
Mum’s eyes clouded with confusion, and I felt so cruel. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees until my face was only a few inches away from my mother’s.
“It’s me, Nicky,” I repeated, and I could hear the desperation in my own voice.
My mother’s hand reached out to touch my cheek as she had done a thousand times before. Something in the movement triggered her memory.
“Of course, it is.” She smiled. “Nicky.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
I swallowed hard and wondered how much she remembered. Did she remember that Alex would never visit her?
Did she know, deep down, that she would never see Alex again?
33
CHARLOTTE CHECKED HER WATCH for what felt like the hundredth time. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath.
She was waiting on the corner of Burnsey Road, some two streets away from where Lloyd Hughes lived with his mother. The response unit had gone straight there, but the rest of them had kept their distance, not wanting to alert anyone to the fact that the house was about to be raided.
Charlotte exchanged a glance with one of the uniformed officers who was going to be part of the team to search the property. They were all on edge, waiting for their cue.
When the radio crackled into life, Charlotte’s pulse spiked. This was it: the breakthrough they’d been waiting for.
“We have access to the property,” a crackly voice came over the radio.
“Do they have Lloyd Hughes in custody?” Charlotte asked the officer in charge of communications.
“Negative. Whereabouts of the suspect is unknown.”
Charlotte clenched her fists. That wasn’t the outcome they had hoped for. Had Lloyd Hughes known they were coming?
Once the communications officer had gotten clearance, the rest of the team headed over to the terraced house owned by Lloyd Hughes’ mother.
It was a normal London street, lined with terraced houses. Cars were crammed into parking spaces. A few curtains twitched as they walked past. There was nothing to give any indication that a killer lived here. You could never tell what lurked beneath the surface and that was one of the first things Charlotte had learned in this job.
She was still buzzing with nervous energy.
One of the first response officers left the terraced house, walking down the small pathway to greet them on the pavement.
“It’s cleared,” he said. “You can start your search.”
“Is there no sign of Lloyd Hughes at all?” Charlotte asked.
“There’s only one little old lady in residence, and I severely doubt she is your killer.” The officer smirked.
Charlotte muttered another curse.
“She is sitting on the sofa in the living room if you want a word,” he said and headed back to the police van double-parked on the narrow street. His part of the task was complete, and he wasn’t planning to hang around any longer than he had to.
As the other officers filed inside the terraced house to begin their search of the property, Charlotte went looking for Lloyd Hughes’ mother.
She found her sitting on the sofa just as the first response officer had described. She was a small woman with light sandy hair that was greying at the temples. She wore a large burgundy cardigan, several sizes too big for her, and she was holding a tabby cat in her lap.
She turned to the doorway as Charlotte entered the living room.
“Mrs. Hughes?” Charlotte walked towards her. “My name is DC Charlotte Brown of the City of London police. I’m sure this must have all been a bit of a shock for you this morning, but I wo
nder if I could ask you a few questions.”
Mrs. Hughes looked at her blankly for a moment and then nodded. “Are you going to tell me what’s happening?” she asked in a whisper.
Charlotte nodded. “We are looking for Lloyd Hughes. Does he live at this address?”
“No, he hasn’t done for a while.”
“What is your relationship with Lloyd? Is he your son?”
Mrs. Hughes nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Has he done something wrong?”
“We think Lloyd might be able to help us with an enquiry,” Charlotte said carefully, not wanting to put Mrs. Hughes’ back up and give her a reason to be defensive.
“Do you know where we might be able to find Lloyd, Mrs. Hughes?” Charlotte asked. “It is a matter of some urgency.”
“Well, you’ll have a job tracking him down. I last spoke to him two weeks ago.”
“I see. Did he come to see you here?”
“No, he called me.”
“And do you know where he was calling from?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Hughes nodded.
This was like drawing blood out of a stone. Charlotte suppressed a sigh of frustration.
“Could you tell me where he was calling from?”
“I couldn’t tell you exactly, but I know it was somewhere in Thailand. He did tell me, but I can’t remember the name of the place. It was something very foreign sounding.”
Charlotte could practically see the case unravelling in front of her. “Thailand,” she repeated. “And how long has he been there?”
“Two weeks,” Mrs. Hughes said. “He’s been travelling the world. He left England six months ago. He visited Australia first.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. You’ve been very helpful.”
Where on earth did they go from here? Mrs. Hughes might be lying, or her son could be lying to her about his whereabouts. That was something they could check out, but Charlotte had a horrible, sinking feeling that Lloyd Hughes really was in Thailand, which meant he wasn’t their killer.