by M K Farrar
“You live nearby?”
Lucy pointed across the road. “Yes, just over there. Number forty-two.”
Erica recounted what she’d been told. “So, you were on your way home from a pub in Stratford where you’d been watching a friend play in a band. You caught the Tube and walked the rest of the way to your house when you came across Mr Skehan. Can you describe what you saw?”
“I was on the other side of the street. He had his hands over his face, and blood was pouring out from between his fingers and running down his shirt. I didn’t know what had happened. I thought he might have had an accident of some kind, but then he started shouting about there being a man in his flat and that it was dangerous, and I needed to be careful.”
“Did you see anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. He’d left the front door open, so I did check because I was frightened, but I didn’t see anyone. The inside of the flat was dark, though, and it was hard to see much of anything.”
“What about before you saw Mr Skehan? Did you notice anything unusual? Any strange people hanging around or any different cars on the street?”
“No, nothing like that. Everything was normal.”
“What about during the days before the attack? Did you notice anyone or anything unusual?”
“No, sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”
Erica gave her a reassuring smile. “You have been helpful, Lucy.” She handed her a business card. “Call me if you think of anything, though. Even if it seems small and insignificant, I still want to know. It could make all the difference in finding who did this.”
Lucy looked down at the card. “I will.” She bit her lower lip. “Can I ask you something?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you think the person who did this will come after me? I mean, if he thinks I might have seen him and would be able to identify him, he might decide that I’m next.”
“That’s unlikely, Lucy,” Erica assured her. “First of all, the attacker never came out the front of the house, so he wouldn’t have seen you. Secondly, even if the attacker did see you, he wouldn’t know anything about you. He wouldn’t know where you live or what your name is, or anything like that. It won’t do any harm for you to be on your guard, though. If you’re feeling unsafe, call us.”
The girl nodded. “Okay, thank you.”
“It’s understandable to be shaken up. We have contacts within the Victim’s Support Service one of my officers can put you in touch with who can offer you support.”
She hiccupped a sob. “I think I’m going to need that.”
“Not a problem. That’s what we’re here for.”
Rudd had also finished speaking to the upstairs neighbour, and Erica turned to her as she approached. “Can you go and talk to the other witness, Mr Hamburg? I want to go and check out the house that this one backs onto.”
Rudd nodded. “Of course.”
Erica walked to the end of the street, took a left, then left again, to bring herself onto the road that ran behind the victim’s flat. She kept going until she reached the correct property, the police lights behind the building giving her an indication as to which was the right one. The house was in darkness, so either no one was in, or she was about to wake someone up.
She rang the doorbell and moved back. From inside, loud barking started, followed by the shout of a man telling the dog to shut up. A light came on inside the house. Clearly, all the activity in the street behind them hadn’t been enough to keep them awake. She felt a little guilty at waking someone in the early hours of the morning, but it couldn’t wait.
The door opened, and an overweight man in a pair of boxer shorts and a white vest rubbed at his eyes. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry to disturb you. My name is DI Swift, and I’m investigating an incident that occurred in the property behind yours. I’m afraid I need to ask you a couple of questions.” She held out her ID.
He squinted at it. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I’ll need to be the judge of that, Mr...?”
“Bennett. Roy Bennett.”
Behind him, a large Alsatian pushed with his head to get past its owner’s bare legs. He held it back by the animal’s collar. “This is Ruby. She looks scary, but she won’t hurt you.”
“That’s okay, Mr Bennett. Dogs don’t worry me. I’d like to ask you some questions and I need to take a look at your back garden.”
“I suppose that’s okay,” he grumbled, moving out of the way to let her through. As with the victim’s house, there was no side entrance to the garden.
“What’s happened then?” he asked.
“A man was attacked with a knife in his home.”
Roy Bennett tutted. “Jesus. Don’t know what’s wrong with kids these days.”
“To be fair,” Erica said, “we don’t know how old the assailant was.”
“Bound to be kids. Always is lately. They like their knives, too, don’t they? Act like it’s cool to try and destroy someone else’s life. I blame the parents, personally. They’re all too busy on their phones or getting drunk or God knows what else to give a shit about what their kids are up to.”
Erica didn’t think there was much point in trying to explain to him once more that there weren’t necessarily any kids involved with this case. Besides, she didn’t like how everyone blamed teenagers for everything these days. After all, the teenagers were being brought up by parents who had had parents themselves, so all the problems couldn’t be put down to one generation, or even two.
“If you could just show me the back garden.”
He led her through the small, slightly grubby house. The walls were covered in textured wallpaper that was peeling in the corners, and the floor looked as though it hadn’t been hoovered in a very long time. They passed through a galley kitchen leading onto the back door. It was a similar layout to the victim’s place, only this property had remained as a house and hadn’t been divided into flats.
The back door key stuck out of the lock. Just like in the victim’s house, the top half of the door was a pane of glass.
Erica nodded at the key. “You shouldn’t leave that in the lock overnight. It makes it easy for people to break in.”
He shrugged. “Who’d want to break in here? Nothing to steal. Besides, then they’d have to face Ruby.”
The dog probably was more of a deterrent than anything else. Erica figured that if she was ever going to choose somewhere to break into, she’d go with the property that didn’t have the huge, barking dog. Most dogs could be easily distracted with a decent bone, though, or a really determined criminal wouldn’t hesitate to resort to violence to dispose of a pet.
Bennett opened the back door and stepped out.
“If I can just ask you to wait here for me, Mr Bennett,” she said, moving past him. “I’m not sure yet if the man we’re after is still around, and if he’s left any clues for us, I need to make sure they’re not disturbed.” She glanced up at the outside wall, hoping to see a security camera. There wasn’t one, but there was an external light.
“And can you flick the switch for the outside light as well,” she asked.
The dog must have decided it was time to go out, but the owner grabbed her by the collar, preventing her from following Erica. Bennett did as she’d asked and turned on the light, a bright white glow illuminating the back garden.
“Mind the grass,” he said. “There’s dog shit on it.”
Lovely.
Erica turned her attention to the small space, assessing it for any possibility someone might still be hiding there. There wasn’t much to the garden—a patch of weed-blown grass, a flowerbed around the edges that contained a few shrubs. A handful of flowers bravely popped their heads from between the weeds.
She used the torch on her phone to check for any signs that the man had come this way, but there was nothing obvious. She needed to make sure SOCO went over the garden as thoroughly as the house.
; Erica turned back to the house and dodged a large mound of dog mess, just missing it at the last minute. She was too late to stop the ‘ugh’ of dismay bursting from her mouth.
“Sorry,” Bennett commented. “Didn’t know I was going to have to clean it for people in the middle of the night.”
“You don’t need to clean anything up, Mr Bennett. In fact, I’m specifically asking you not to touch anything. I’m going to need to get my forensics team around here. We might be able to pick up a shoe print or even fibres off the wall. I’m going to need to ask that both you and the dog stay out of the garden until they’re done.”
His doughy face grew even more sullen. “What if she needs a piss?”
“You’ll have to take her for a walk, Mr Bennett.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m sure that won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you.”
He harrumphed in irritation. “She’s gonna bark her head off the whole time if there’s people messing around out there.”
“Does she bark a lot then?”
“Yeah, whenever anyone is near the house. Drives me up the bloody wall. I shout at her to tell her to shut up, but she just thinks I’m barking as well. Probably reckons I’m joining in.”
Erica frowned. “But she didn’t bark this evening?”
“Well, she did when you arrived.”
“What about earlier than that? Around eleven-thirty?”
He shook his head. “Don’t think so, but then I would have been half asleep at that time.”
That was odd. If a stranger had jumped into the back garden and the dog normally barked when people were around, why hadn’t it barked this time? Unless the assailant was just very light on his feet, and the dog simply didn’t hear him. It was possible, of course, or perhaps the owner was sound asleep and didn’t hear the dog barking. There was no way for her to know for certain.
“And you’re sure you haven’t seen anyone hanging around lately? Any strange cars parked in the street?”
“No, I haven’t. Everything’s been normal.” He paused and then added, “The bloke who was attacked, is he going to be okay?”
“I hope so, Mr Bennett.”
“Good.”
“My team will be with you shortly,” she said. “Don’t touch anything out there.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
She left via the front door and stepped back out onto the pavement. The road was made up of terraced houses, the same as on the victim’s street. The only way the attacker could have got out was through the neighbours’ gardens. Hopefully, one of them would have seen or heard something that would give them a lead.
Chapter Three
Two years earlier
THE DOOR OF THE PRISON cell swung shut, an electronic buzzing filling Nicholas Bailey’s ears, signalling the door was locked.
Was this going to be his home for the rest of his adult life? A fourteen-foot by ten-foot room, containing only a set of bunk beds, an exposed toilet—there would be no privacy in this place—a solid plastic chair, a shelf and cupboard, and a wash basin. The barred window looked out on the exercise yard beyond, a view of yet more grey upon grey.
“Make yourself comfortable, Bailey,” Prison Officer Ian Bache said through the little hatch. “You’re going to be here for a very long time.”
In the bottom bunk, a skinny white man with a hooked nose and deep-set eyes swung his legs off the side and sat up. He wore the same prison-issued outfit of a grey sweatshirt and jogging bottoms that Nicholas had on. Together with Velcro trainers, since no shoelaces were allowed at the risk of them being used as a ligature. Behind the man, posters of women in suggestive poses had been stuck to the wall with now hardened toothpaste as glue wasn’t allowed.
“You’re my new roommate, huh?” He scowled in Nicholas’s direction. “You’d better not cause me any trouble.”
Nicholas straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, doing his best not to appear afraid. He didn’t have much knowledge of prison life, but he knew that. Showing your fear was like waving a red flag.
The skinny man jerked his chin. “You gonna tell me your name or just stand there like a faggot?”
“Nicholas,” he replied. “My name’s Nicholas Bailey.”
Recognition lit the other man’s face, and a smile spread across it, exposing a set of crooked teeth. He pointed a finger. “Wait a minute. You’re the one who’s been all over the news, ain’t you? The psycho who killed that cop’s husband.”
The knot inside Nicholas’s chest unravelled a fraction. “Yeah, that’s me.”
His new bunkmate brayed laughter and slapped his thighs. “Good on you, mate. You did some other sick stuff, too, right? Cut out peoples’ eyes and shit like that?”
For some reason, Nicholas squirmed inside at those details. It was personal, that was why. What had happened between him and the people he’d chosen shouldn’t have been made public knowledge. But he wasn’t stupid and if he needed to use what he’d done to make his life easier, then he would.
He cleared his throat and jutted out his jaw. “I might have done.”
“Wait till the others hear about this. I bet you’ve got some good stories in you, too. Life is fucking boring in here, so we always like to get the gory details off anyone who isn’t going to try hiding behind the whole ‘innocent’ bullshit. Ain’t none of us innocent in here, if even some of us didn’t commit the crimes we were accused of. Guaranteed we did something else that would have landed us behind bars.”
“What did you do to end up here?” Nicholas dared to ask.
“Me? I didn’t do nothin’. I’m innocent!” And he set off in that braying laugh again.
Nicholas balled his fists, his nails digging into his palms with sharp stings of pain. That laugh was already grating on him, and he potentially had years of listening to it. Unless something unfortunate happened to his cellmate. He didn’t know why his thoughts jumped to that ending for his cellmate rather than him getting out. He guessed that was just the way his mind worked.
He approached the bunk and threw his scant belongings up onto the thin mattress. Other people would have brought their own things in with them, photos of loved ones, children or girlfriends or wives. Nicholas didn’t have any of those people in his life. He was completely alone. When he’d been checked into reception, he’d been issued some basic toiletries, a toothbrush, and toilet roll. He’d also been given a set of sheets with which to make his bed, but a deep weariness had settled into his bones. What did he care if he was going to sleep on an unmade bed? It was the last of his concerns right now.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me what my name is?” his new cellmate said. “I asked yours.”
Nicholas pulled himself up onto the bunk and then lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. An underlying stench of body odour and damp rose from the mattress. The white paint was lined with numerous cracks, and when he let his gaze travel farther down to where the ceiling became the wall, he saw someone had scraped the outline of a balls and cock.
“Well, aren’t you?”
Nicholas jumped at the other man’s voice. For a moment, he’d completely forgotten he wasn’t alone.
“What’s your name?” he asked reluctantly. He didn’t really give a shit what his cellmate was called.
The man below him snorted. “Everyone calls me Fish.”
Nicholas kept his eyes on the ceiling. “Fish?”
“Yeah, ’cause I’m as slippery as one.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be eels?”
This conversation was confusing him. People didn’t have names like Fish or Eel. He could already tell he wasn’t going to do well in this place. Being a loner, like he was, wasn’t a good thing. He needed to have a gang mentality to make friends and fit in, but that had never been his way.
His thoughts went to the detective who was behind him being here. It was her fault everything had gone wrong in his life. She hadn’t saved his brother when she’d had the chance, and then she’d ruined everything by get
ting her police friends involved and having him put here. At least he’d managed to take her husband from her before that happened. Though only a small kernel of satisfaction, it kept him warm at night when the despair tried to creep into his soul.
An eye for an eye.
He’d played that moment in his head time and time again, the sudden shock and finality when he pushed the husband in front of the Tube train, and her scream as she’d realised what he’d done. He’d wanted to add her eyes to the collection of those who’d come before her, the ones who’d underestimated him, and she’d denied him that. Maybe he’d have let her live. She’d have had to find her way in the world blind, and with no husband. Her career would have been over, too. All she’d have had left was her daughter, but he didn’t want to punish the kid. Children were always the innocents in these situations. He’d known it well enough from when he’d been growing up. His own mother had been an uncaring bitch, just like that detective.
Nicholas didn’t get much time to rest. Before he knew it, the buzzers were sounding again, and the metal door opened.
“You came on the right day,” Fish declared, hopping to his feet. “It’s chip night. Everyone gets excited for chip night.”
Nicholas didn’t have much of an appetite right now, but he needed to join in and make himself a part of the prison community. What he really wanted was to stay lying on the bunk, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought so he could forget where he was, but doing so would signal him as a weirdo, and people who were different didn’t do well in life, never mind in prison.
Fish—or Eel, whatever his name was—showed him the ropes, taking him down to the canteen where they lined up for food to be dumped onto a plastic tray. Male bodies of all shapes, sizes, and skin tones packed the dining hall. Many were scrawled with tattoos—even the older ones. They all wore the same prison uniform and hard expressions. Their low conversation filled the air, together with the stink of boiled cabbage and the tang of bleach. It was impossible for Nicholas not to feel intimidated by them all, and he was thankful his cellmate—no matter how annoying his laugh might be—had taken him under his wing. Everyone seemed to know each other and headed to various groups and free spots at the tables. Nicholas was propelled back to his days at school where he’d never known where to sit at lunchtime.