by M K Farrar
“Perhaps the assailant was wearing protective clothing,” Allen said.
“Maybe, but there were no signs of anyone having jumped down, either. We’ve had rain recently, and there was a flowerbed, which was mostly just dirt, directly on the other side, but we didn’t find any shoe prints at all.”
“Could he have jumped farther, out onto the grass, so he avoided the mud?”
Erica fiddled with a pen and scribbled with force onto a piece of paper. “A possibility, yes, though I’d have been amazed he avoided all the dog mess—there were no footprints in that either.”
“Maybe he didn’t jump down there. He might have crawled or walked along the wall and got down into a different garden.”
“Again, possibly, but I’d still expect to find clothing fibres. Those fences weren’t strong enough to hold a man’s weight, so he must have pulled himself up onto the wall, and the chances of not leaving anything are zero.”
“You’re saying he didn’t get onto the wall?”
“If he did, he was naked and somehow has the ability not to sweat or shed skin or hair either.”
She blew out her cheeks. Was she wrong about him going over the wall? She’d checked the two fences either side of the small backyard, and there was no way someone would have been able to scale them without them collapsing. She was going to need to go back to the crime scene and reassess her assumptions, though she couldn’t see how he would have gone any other way. But the dog in the house behind hadn’t barked either, which also suggested her instinct about him going over the wall had been wrong.
She tried not to give in to her frustrations. Other than the attacker being male—and even that wasn’t one hundred percent certain—they had very little to go on. Everything she thought would produce a lead had ended up being a dead end.
“Okay, thanks for your help, Keith.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help more.”
She ended the call but barely had time to put her thoughts together before Hannah Rudd approached her desk.
“Sorry, boss. I’ve gone through the neighbour’s security footage from several hours before the attack to several hours after, and I can’t see anyone on it.”
“Shit.” Erica thought for a moment. “If the camera didn’t catch anything, and there’s no route out from the back gardens between the houses, it means our guy went in the other direction. It’s not what we wanted, but it helps narrow down what his actions were after fleeing the scene.”
“We’ve gathered all the car registrations from around that area,” Rudd said, “so we can make sure there were no unusual vehicles around at the time?”
“Good. Let me know if that produces anything.”
Rudd nodded and left, just as Howard arrived. The two of them passed without acknowledging each other, and Erica pursed her lips. She hoped Howard wasn’t going to keep causing friction in the office.
“Thought you’d want an update,” Howard said as he stopped in front of her desk. “I was able to track down the two friends Skehan met up with the evening of his attack. They both describe themselves as his colleagues rather than friends and said they haven’t known him long. But I checked out the CCTV of the pub they went to, and they were all there together drinking, not heavily, by the looks of it, just a couple of pints. They said Skehan made his excuses about eleven and headed home, while they stayed out and went to a club.”
Erica frowned. “Is that normal? For him to go home and them to go on somewhere else, I mean?”
“I asked the same question, and they said they didn’t know Skehan well enough to be able to say what he normally would or wouldn’t do. They said he’s a bit of a loner and that he didn’t have many mates.”
“He’s not from London. Shame he’s not managed to fit in, though. He seems like a friendly enough bloke.”
Howard shrugged. “It’s different for men. We don’t make friends in the same way you women do. Beer and football is about all we tend to have in common.”
“What about the CCTV footage from the pub and the surrounding area?” she asked. “Did it capture anyone suspicious? Anyone following Skehan to the Tube station?”
“Nope, nothing like that. They just looked like a group of blokes on a night out. No one around set any alarm bells ringing, and the pub landlord didn’t see anyone suspicious hanging around either. Skehan didn’t get into any arguments or fights, that the landlord had noticed. He said it was just a normal night out.”
Erica huffed out a breath. “That doesn’t help us any.”
When were they going to get a break on this case?
ERICA STOPPED BY BRANDON Skehan’s flat on the way to pick Poppy up from Natasha’s. She’d worked far too many hours over the past day or two and she needed an evening with her daughter and a decent night’s sleep. She wouldn’t be able to catch Brandon Skehan’s attacker if she was exhausted and couldn’t think straight. She knew her own limits, and while she could miss one night of sleep and still function like a human being, two nights was pushing it.
She did her best to take in the property with fresh eyes, trying to figure out where the attacker might have escaped from if he hadn’t gone over that back wall. With Brendon and the witnesses all gathered out the front while the emergency services were called, there was no way he could have escaped from the front of the property without being seen. That meant he either went out the back, or he hid inside the building until everyone had gone. Could he have gone to the upstairs’ neighbour’s flat? The property had been checked, but maybe they’d missed something. What if Julie Luxford had been hiding something, or someone? Erica made a mental note to speak to the other woman again.
Feeling as though she wasn’t getting anywhere, she left for Natasha’s.
She wasn’t the only one to be happy about spending a night at home. When she arrived to pick up her daughter, Poppy flung her arms around her waist.
“What do you want for dinner tonight?” Erica asked her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually managed to do a decent supermarket shop. She only ever seemed to have time to grab the basics from the local Tesco Express.
“Fish and chips,” Poppy declared.
It would save her cooking—and shopping for whatever it was she thought she might cook—though it was hardly the healthiest of meals. But now Poppy had suggested it, Erica couldn’t imagine eating anything else, and she convinced herself that they both deserved a treat.
“That sounds like a very good idea. Let’s swing by the chip shop on the way home.”
They got home clutching paper-wrapped bundles of salt-and-vinegar-steaming fish and chips, and ate it on their laps in front of the television. Erica kept an eye on her phone for any developments on the case, but right now she had the feeling it was going to go cold. There was nothing more frustrating than a case she couldn’t solve. They happened, of course they did, but she preferred it when they didn’t.
With greasy fingers and full stomachs, Erica bundled the leftovers back into the paper and shoved them in the bin.
“Can I have ice cream?” Poppy called from the other room.
“Let your dinner go down first or you’ll get sick.”
The doorbell chimed through the house. Who was that? It was almost seven and time for Poppy’s bath and bedtime. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and went to answer it.
The shape through the glass panel in the front door cut a familiar figure.
A grin spread across Erica’s face as she opened it. “Hello, stranger! You’re back.”
Shawn returned the smile. “Had to stop by and say hi to my two favourite people.”
“It’s good to have you back. How was the holiday?”
“Put it this way, I feel like I might need to go on a detox now. I think my blood may be ninety percent beer.”
“That great a time, huh?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, we had a few laughs. It got a little boring towards the end, though. Only so much sun and booze one man can take.”
She realised she was leaving him standing on the doorstep and backed out of the way to let him into the hallway. “Sounds ideal to me.”
“You should take Poppy away sometime. She’d love it.”
Erica sighed and pushed her hand through her hair. “I keep playing with the idea. We used to go abroad when Chris was alive. The idea of doing it on my own just feels really weird.”
She knew the possibility of Shawn offering to go with them hung on the air between them, but it wasn’t as easy as that. For one, it would be near impossible for him to book annual leave at the same time as her. Secondly, it would be morally wrong, what with her being his boss. She could always try to find a new job role with a different department, but the thought of losing Shawn as her DS was even worse. When they were working together, she could rely on having him in her life. If they went down a different route, she might lose him as both a colleague and a friend. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.
“You’re going to need to get over that hurdle sometime, Erica. For Poppy’s sake, as well as your own.”
She risked a smile. “You mean I can’t hide us both in the house forever?”
“No, you can’t,” he said sternly.
“I know. It’s just not easy when you know what a dangerous place the world can be.”
“Poppy couldn’t ask for anyone better to keep her safe than you.”
Erica sighed. “I wish I could believe you on that. Thing is, I didn’t keep Chris safe, did I? Quite the opposite. If he’d never had me in his life, he’d still be alive.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have swapped a single day for not having you and Poppy.”
Shawn was right. Chris had been a devoted father and husband. That was what made all of this even worse. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the guilt and grief surrounding her loss of him. The idea of being able to move on and just get on with her life felt impossible.
“Anyway,” he changed the tone, “I brought Poppy back a present.”
“You did?”
“Yep.” He reached into the carrier bag and pulled out a child-sized red flamenco dress, complete with frills, tassels, and black polka dots. “Ta-da.”
“Oh my God. She’s going to love it, thank you.” Erica called over her shoulder. “Poppy, come here. Shawn’s brought you a present.”
She appeared in the lounge doorway. “A present?”
“Say hi to Shawn.”
“Hi, Shawn. You got me a present?”
“Come here and speak to him properly,” Erica chided.
The girl hurried over, and Shawn handed her the bag. She grinned and reached in to pull out the dress.
“It’s like what all the Spanish girls wear at the horse festivals,” he told her.
“See,” Erica said, “you did get some culture.”
“Can I try it on now?” Poppy asked.
Erica nodded. “Of course. Then come down and show us what it looks like.”
She led Shawn into the kitchen and proceeded to put the kettle on.
“So, how’s things been at work?” Shawn propped himself up against the worktop.
Erica took down a couple of mugs. “Busy. I’ll be glad to have you back in. We need all the hands we can get right now. We’ve had a knife attack on a man in his twenties in his home, and as of yet, we don’t have any suspects. He claims he can think of no reason why someone would have attacked him. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his eye. The frustrating thing is that I can’t figure out how the attacker made his escape from the property. Forensics don’t think he went over the back wall, and a light breeze would knock down the two fences either side of the property.”
“Beamed into outer space by aliens?” Shawn suggested.
Erica chuckled. “I’m starting to think that might be the case.”
“And how did Rudd get on with being Acting DS?”
“She’s been great. Howard’s had his arse in his hands over it all week, though. He clearly believes he should have been chosen over Rudd.”
“That’s Howard’s issue, though,” Shawn said. “He thinks he’s a better detective than he is. Rudd just keeps her head down and gets on with whatever is thrown at her. Howard has a tendency to make a song and dance about things.”
“I agree. He’s just young, that’s all. I think in another couple of years, when he’s matured a little, he’ll be the detective he wants to be. Men always seem to mature slower than women.”
He grinned at her. “I hope you’re not calling me immature.”
“There are always exceptions,” she teased.
Poppy burst into the room in a blur of red and black frills. She put both hands in the air and did a twirl. “Look how pretty it is.”
“Look how pretty you are,” Erica said, her heart warming at the sight of her daughter so happy.
Shawn was right. It wasn’t fair on Poppy for Erica to keep her home simply because she was frightened of letting her out into the big wide world. After all, Chris had been home that day, and it hadn’t kept him any safer. It was important for Poppy to experience a life outside of London. Maybe she could find somewhere quiet with sunshine and a bit of culture. She definitely didn’t fancy going anywhere like the Costa del Sol, where it was full of British people getting drunk and eating the same terrible fried food they got at home, but there were plenty of other options. Yes, somewhere quiet where she and Poppy could spend some quality time together, swimming in the sea and building sandcastles and eating ice cream.
“Earth to Erica. You were miles away,” Shawn said.
“I was. Just thinking that you were right about taking Poppy on holiday somewhere.”
Poppy’s eyes widened. “We’re going on holiday? Like a proper holiday?”
“Hey, we’ve had proper holidays,” Erica protested.
Poppy pouted and folded her arms. Erica got a flash of what her daughter would be like as a teen. “Mummy, we didn’t even have a sleepover anywhere. I have more sleepovers with Aunty Tasha when you’re working.”
“Okay, I know, you’re right. I’ve got some annual leave I need to take, but it won’t happen for a few months yet, okay?”
“Yeah, that’s okay.”
Erica glanced up and caught Shawn’s eye. He threw her a wink.
“Yes, okay, you were right,” she conceded.
Poppy ran back off, and Erica finished making the tea.
Chapter Seven
Two Years Earlier
Nicholas was starting to get used to prison life, but that didn’t mean he liked it.
Different smells permeated the air depending on the day. Fridays always meant Bombay potatoes, and the tang of spice mingled with boiled vegetables filtered through the whole jail.
Nicholas clutched the tray containing his food and turned towards the hall filled with prisoners. His gaze skirted across the multitude of heads, searching for a space where he could sit. This place was worse than school had been. Everyone had their own gang, and, despite his initial welcome, Nicholas hadn’t found his own one.
He spotted the back of Fish’s mostly bald head, and his stomach churned with a combination of relief and anxiety. At least he had something to aim for, instead of just standing there like an idiot with no direction.
He crossed the room, tray held out in front of him. Fish must have sensed him coming as he glanced up just as Nicholas reached him and rolled his eyes. Both of them clocked the space beside Fish, and instead of Fish nodding at it to let him know it was available, he slid sideways, filling it himself.
Fish forked up some of his curry and shoved it in his mouth before speaking.
“We share a cell, dude. It doesn’t mean we’re fucking married or something. You can sit somewhere else.”
The men sitting around the table shot him looks that were a combination of amused, irritated, and plain hostile.
“Fine. Whatever.”
Nicholas took a step back. His tray trembled, and he held it tighter and willed the shaking to stop. He recogni
sed it as a result of the adrenaline flooding his system. His heartbeat was a heavy thump in his chest.
In his head he screamed, fuck, fuck, fuuuucck.
Outwardly, he just shrugged and turned away.
He didn’t even want to eat his meal now, but he sensed all eyes on him, some of the other prisoners probably willing for a fight to break out so they had a little entertainment over lunch. He sensed his weakness radiate out from him and knew the men picked up on it.
A space at the end of one of the other tables opened up and, with relief, he sank into the empty spot. Farther down the table, five black men openly glared at him, and Nicholas prayed one of them wouldn’t get to their feet and demand to know what he was doing sitting there.
Luckily, it seemed he wasn’t worth their time, as they just shook their heads at him, sucked air in through their teeth, and went back to their conversation. Or perhaps there were too many officers around and they were waiting until they were in the exercise yard or even in the showers. Nicholas grew cold at the thought.
He’d completely lost his appetite, but he forced himself to shovel the curried potatoes into his mouth. Part of him was worried that if he didn’t eat it, it would end up spilt into his lap or tipped over his head by one of the other inmates. He’d been such an idiot to think he might have found his people when he’d first arrived. Things were no different here to what they were on the outside. Inwardly, he squirmed at the recollection. He’d thought he was the big man, someone of importance. They’d encouraged him and asked questions, and he’d told them everything. Now they had that knowledge, he was no longer a person of interest, and it had left him feeling dirtied. He’d sold out in the hope of finding his clan, and instead he’d been cleaned out and left on the scrap heap. Yeah, he’d been used all right, and now what the fuck was he going to do? No one wanted to know him in here, just like no one had ever wanted to know him in the outside world either.
He finished his tray of food and carried it over to dump the scraps in the bin and stacked the empty tray on top of all the others. He had a little spare time before his work shift started. The idea of prisoners all sitting around in their cells all day was completely wrong. Nicholas had been given a job making clothing, which earnt him a pathetic amount for his commissary, so he could buy extra snacks or drinks, or even toiletries. They worked them hard for the pittance they were paid, but he guessed it wasn’t as though he was in here to earn his fortune. The way things were going, he doubted he’d be in here long at all. At some point, someone would probably take a disliking to him and decide to end his life. There were plenty of people out in the real world who would say he got everything he deserved and would most likely raise a glass at the news of his death. The detective, Erica Swift, would be one of them, no doubt.