by M K Farrar
“If the killer was the one to set up those posts, we have to ask ourselves why? Why go to the trouble of making it appear as though Naomi was still alive?”
“He was buying himself time?” Shawn suggested.
“Time to do what?”
“Make an escape?”
Erica let out a long sigh. “Let’s hope not. And there’s still the possibility that we’re looking in completely the wrong place. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that I’ve worked on a case like this before.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you talking about the Maher case again?”
She dragged her hand through her hair. “I don’t know. Something about it is bugging me. It was the way the hair was draped around the victim’s throat to hide the strangulation marks. We released that information to the public, didn’t we? It was the part about how he used to stage them that we kept quiet.”
Shawn shook his head. “Honestly, I can’t remember, and we had a leak as well, with that other man who came forward. I remember he was a weird one. He was obsessed with your cases and had newspaper clippings pasted all over his walls. But it’s hard to recall all the details without going back over the files.”
“Can you check them for me? Find out the name of the man who came forward and claimed to be the killer in the Maher case.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
They couldn’t move any further forward with Robert Day until after his solicitor had arrived, and that could take hours. She might as well put her time to good use and put that nagging voice in her head to rest.
Chapter Fourteen
Erica was surprised Lara Maher hadn’t moved out of London. Not only that, she hadn’t even moved out of the house she’d shared with her psychopath brother, the same place he’d brought Erica himself when he’d kidnapped her.
Standing on the front doorstep now, every muscle in her body tensed. Though she knew Tristan Maher was safely behind bars, and that Lara hadn’t played any deliberate part in his crime, with the exception of not calling them the moment she’d found the paintings and photographs, there was no reason to feel so anxious. This was just a simple building of brick and slate, no different to her own home. The person who’d lived there hadn’t somehow infected the place.
She could have asked Shawn to come with her, but she felt better if she spoke to Lara alone. Lara had suffered abuse at her brother’s hand for years, and Erica had no way of knowing what kind of emotional or psychological state she would be in. She might not react too well to having a man in the house again—even if that man was a detective—and would be more likely to open up to Erica.
Erica lifted her hand to the doorbell, clenched and unclenched her fist, and then pressed the buzzer. Somewhere in the house, a bell jingled.
She sucked in a breath and took a couple of paces back. Was there any movement inside the property? There was always the chance Lara might not be home. She’d run her own business when her brother had been apprehended for murdering those poor women, but Erica had no idea if she still did. Would people really allow Lara into their homes to clean after learning what her brother had done? It was hard to imagine feeling comfortable with that, even though it hadn’t been Lara’s fault. But that kind of thing had a way of tainting people.
Light footsteps approached from inside, and the door swung open a crack. It was halted by a security chain, and a chunk of face peered through the gap.
“Lara?” Erica said. “I don’t know if you remember me—”
She didn’t get any further. The door shut again, and for a moment Erica didn’t think it would reopen, but then it did, and fully this time.
“Of course I remember you, DI Swift,” Lara said. “How could I possibly forget?”
“I wondered if I’d be able to come in for a chat. It’s nothing official. Just something that’s been bugging me.”
She let Erica in. “Yes, come in. I’ll make some tea.”
Erica hadn’t exactly planned for this to be a social call either, but she didn’t have the heart to refuse. She couldn’t imagine what Lara’s life must have been like after everything that had happened.
“Go through.” Lara nodded towards the living room.
She vanished into the kitchen to make the tea, and Erica found herself unusually anxious as she took a seat, deliberately positioning herself so she had her back to the conservatory that Tristan had used as a painting studio. It was the same place she’d woken bound after he’d kidnapped her.
Lara came in with two mugs of tea in one hand and a bowl of sugar in the other. She set them down on the coffee table.
“I didn’t know how you took it.”
“No sugar is fine, thanks.” She wasn’t about to start telling Lara she was more of a coffee drinker and she liked it black and strong. When you were British, everyone assumed you drank tea.
Lara sat and clasped her hands together. “I’m guessing you’re here about that poor woman who was murdered.”
It had been all over the news. Lara was bound to have made a mental connection between the murder and what her brother had done.
“Yes, I am. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if that’s all right.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Go for it, though I’m not sure what I can tell you.”
“Are you still in touch with Tristan?”
Lara nodded and stared at her hands. “We write. I went in to visit him one time, not long after he was put inside. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe I thought he’d change and that he would have realised just how much pain he’d caused and apologise, but he did nothing of the sort. He never thought he did anything wrong. It was as though the world owed him everything, and so he just took whatever he wanted.”
“But you write? What sort of things does he say?”
“I write to him, but I don’t read his replies. I tear them up and put them in the bin the moment they arrive.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to read whatever it is he has to say. I know none of it will be good. I write to him because, despite everything, I don’t want him to think that I’ve completely abandoned him. Maybe I should, but I shared a womb with him. I can’t just pretend that he’s dead.”
Erica offered her a small smile. “No one is expecting you to do that. You have to do whatever it is that works for you as an individual. Nobody in the world has ever gone through what you have before, so it’s impossible for anyone to tell you how or what you should be thinking or feeling.”
Lara bit at her lower lip, working off a piece of dried skin. “You probably think it’s weird that I’ve stayed in the same house, too, don’t you?”
“I’m not going to judge your choices, Lara.” In truth, she had thought it was odd, and clearly even Lara had realised that by her question.
Her voice dropped a level. “It’s my home. It always has been. My parents left this place to me, and it’s the only connection I have left to them, except for my car. With Tristan in prison and them dead, it felt like by selling it, I was purposefully trying to cut them out of my life. To forget them all and move on.” She blew out a breath, and her eyes slid shut for a moment. “I couldn’t bring myself to do that.”
Sadness radiated from the other woman. Erica couldn’t imagine how it must feel to learn something like that about the person you loved most in the world. How did you piece that together in your heart to ever sit right?
Lara looked up with a fake, bright smile. “Anyway, you’re not here to ask me about how I’m doing, are you? I’m not naïve enough to think the police do that. You want to ask me about the case.”
“You’re right. The young woman was strangled in her home and left on the bed, naked.”
Lara jumped straight to the point. “You mean like Tristan used to do?”
Erica nodded. “I’m not sure what I was hoping you’d say, but the murder put me right back in the room when I was investigating your brother’s case. I know he’s behind bars and it’s imposs
ible that he’s responsible, but I wondered if you’d been contacted by anyone, perhaps someone who was paying a particular interest in his murders.”
A strange expression crossed Lara’s face, and she gave a choked laugh. “Contacted by anyone? Yes, I guess you could say that.” Lara got to her feet. “Can I show you something, Detective?”
She got up to join her. “Yes, and call me Erica, please.”
Lara led her out of the room and to the front of the house. Erica wondered if she was about to be asked to leave, but instead, Lara opened the door and walked out as well, and then turned to look up at the property. Erica joined her.
“Do you see how all the paintwork across the house and the front door is all different shades?” Lara asked.
Erica hadn’t noticed it when she’d first arrived—she’d only observed the general tiredness and air of neglect that hung around the place—but now it was pointed out to her, she could see where the white stippled paintwork on the front had been painted over several times. The whole of the front hadn’t been done, but instead it had been done in streaks and blobs, as though only parts had been painted over. The same thing applied to the dark-blue front door.
“Yes, I see it.”
Lara approached the green wheelie bin that was placed to the left of the front door and pulled it out slightly to reveal a couple of cans of external paint. “I keep them out here because I need them so often.”
Erica frowned. “I don’t understand.”
She sighed. “Detective, how do you think people reacted to knowing a murderer lived here, and that his sister still does? You asked if anyone had paid particular interest in his murders, well, this is the evidence I’m showing you. Lots of people paid attention, and they liked to remind me of that by spray-painting insults across the front of the house. Many of them weren’t even to do with the murders and instead were directed at me, accusing me of”—her cheeks flushed crimson with shame—“having an unnatural relationship with my brother because of the paintings.”
“You should have called the police,” Erica said.
“I did. Many times. I called them when I had dog shit shoved through my letter box, too, and when someone threw a brick through my window, but other than coming around and filing a report, nothing was done.” She pointed up to security cameras mounted on the walls. “They recommended I put those things up, which I did, but all that happened was the bastards spray-painted the front of the camera. They stand in a spot where they can’t be seen by it and reach around with a spray can. Then they’re free to do whatever they want. I took it down and cleaned the paint off the first few times, but then I figured what was the point, so I just left it.”
“You haven’t been tempted to move?”
A glint sharpened Lara’s eye as she twisted to Erica. “Why should I? I didn’t do anything wrong, except love my brother. All I ever tried to do was be a good sister, even when he controlled me. This just feels like another way of people controlling me, and I’ll be honest, Detective, I’m pretty fucking sick of it.”
This was a new side of Lara that Erica hadn’t seen before. Was it possible to go through something as traumatic as she had and come out of it a stronger person? What Lara had learnt about her brother, plus the years of psychological torture he’d put her through, would have been enough to break the strongest of people, and yet here was Lara Maher ready for the fight.
“I’m not surprised. And no, I don’t expect you to move. You’re right, this is your home.”
Lara’s shoulders sagged, and she nodded and then turned and headed back into the house. Erica followed.
“Anyway,” Lara said as she walked, “I kept everything for the police, in the hope that they might actually catch whoever has been doing all of this, so I guess you might as well take it. People liked to write me abusive letters that were put through the letter box, though I’ve taped it all up now, so I haven’t had anything recently. There might be something there that will help you, though.”
“Thanks. I’ll definitely take them and have a look through. Even if it has nothing to do with this case, I might be able to nail the person down for you.”
DCI Gibbs wouldn’t want her distracted by a matter of harassment when they were working on a murder case, but Erica couldn’t help but feel as though she owed it to Lara not to just let things rest.
“I’d appreciate that, though I’m not going to get my hopes up. I’m pretty sure that even if you found one of them, someone else would quickly take their place.”
She didn’t give Erica a chance to reply, but instead vanished into the kitchen. She returned a few moments later holding a plastic folder filled with pieces of paper.
“Here,” she said, handing it to Erica. “I touched the first couple that arrived because I didn’t know what they were, but once I’d realised, I used gloves to pick them up. I haven’t read them, I just stuffed them in here in case one day the police might actually take an interest.”
Erica offered her a smile. “I’m taking an interest.”
“Shame it took another woman to die for that to happen.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry about that.” Erica held up the folder. “Thanks again for these. I’ll make sure I put some time into them.”
Lara showed Erica out of the door, and Erica made her way to her car. She had a sick sense of unease in her chest, that feeling something was wrong and she’d let someone down. She didn’t really think there would be anything in what she assumed was just hate mail in the folder, but she’d made a promise to Lara that she’d go through it and she intended to keep that promise.
Chapter Fifteen
After Erica had left Lara Maher’s house, she headed back into the office. It had been another hour before Robert Day’s solicitor finally bothered to show his face, and by the time they’d ended the interview and taken DNA samples and fingerprints, the afternoon had vanished. They’d be keeping Mr Day at the station until SOCO had finished going over his flat, and once that was done, he’d be free to return.
When her sister phoned to say she couldn’t collect Poppy from school because one of her kids had come down with a sickness bug, it felt like just another thing had landed in her lap. The thought filled her with guilt. She shouldn’t feel that way about picking up her own daughter—Poppy was her responsibility, not Natasha’s—but she hadn’t even had a chance to look at the letters Lara had given her yet, and she wanted to discuss her thoughts with Shawn, too.
“Hey, do you fancy a drive?” she asked him. “I have to get Poppy from school. One of Natasha’s kids isn’t well, and she thinks it’s probably best if we’re not over there tonight, so I’m going to have to take care of Poppy. I’ve got something to run by you, though, if that’s okay.”
He arched an eyebrow. “To do with the case?”
“Not exactly. I’m not sure what to do with it, to be honest. It would be good to get your opinion.”
“Whatever you need.”
They drove the twenty minutes to Poppy’s school. As always, at this time of day, both the traffic and parking was terrible. But neither of them were parking wardens, so Erica just pulled into the first spot she saw—even though it was partly on double yellow lines—and jumped out of the car.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Shawn.
“No problem.”
She was already running late so picked up her pace. She noticed a couple of the other parents had already collected their children and were now walking back down from school.
“Shit,” she muttered to herself, but was rewarded with the glare of a mother who dragged her son along by his hand and had clearly overheard. Erica held herself back from repeating the word.
Poppy was already lined up inside the school gate waiting for her.
“Mummy!” Her whole face brightened at the sight of Erica. “Where’s Aunty Tasha?”
“Ethan came down with a stomach bug, so you’ve got me tonight.”
“Did you bring me a snack?”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Maybe a little, but I’ll have to work from home. I’ve got someone waiting in the car for you, too.”
Erica thanked the teacher and took her daughter’s hand. Poppy shoved her lunchbox, coat, and school bag into Erica’s other hand.
“I think you can carry something,” Erica said. “You can at least wear your coat.”
She hooked the hood over the back of Poppy’s head, so she wore it as a cape and Poppy laughed.
Back at the car, Shawn was standing outside, the passenger door open, with him propped up against it. In his suit, he made for a striking figure, and she found herself smiling.
“Shawn!” Poppy broke free from Erica’s grip and raced down the pavement towards him.
“Hi Popsy-Pops.” Shawn caught the little girl under the arms and swung her off her feet. “How are you today?”
She squealed with laughter until he put her down.
“My name’s not Popsy-Pops,” she protested.
“Isn’t it? Polly-Poppet, then?”
Poppy giggled. “Nooo!”
He cocked an eyebrow and twisted his lips. “Peggy-Pop-It?”
“You’re being silly.”
He ruffled her hair. “Would I ever do that?”
She put her hands on her hips and nodded determinedly. “Yes, all the time.”
“Hmm, maybe you’re right.”
Erica laughed as well. “Come on, you two. Are we going home, or what?”
“Yeah! I want my snack.”
Erica rolled her eyes. “Always thinking about your stomach.”
She strapped Poppy into her car seat while Shawn got back into the passenger seat, then she drove home. Traffic was bad due to all the schools kicking out, so it took longer than normal, but Poppy chattered away the entire time so it didn’t matter. Some kids were shattered by the time they finished school, but Poppy always seemed to go the opposite way and was hyper after a busy day.