by Karen Botha
When the glass door blasts open, which already has a crack running across it, probably from some other copper throwing it open in an absentminded dash for refreshments before they collapse, Paula’s hair is all over the place. Lucy has said that Paula can become embroiled in a case when she’s in the middle of it, but I’ve never seen her at full pelt before. It’s quite a shock. She’s not one of these Essex girl types with over inflated lips, but she is normally well put together, if not a little on the casual side.
Now she looks as though she’s not bathed for a month, and the bags under her eyes are turning her cheeks grey, such is the vividness of their blue.
“Wow, Paula. You need to eat some iron love - if you’re going to refuse sleep, that is.”
She runs a hand through her torrid locks, and smiles. It meets her eyes, but the energy behind her gesture is lacking. “Thanks for the compliment.” She laughs, but it’s weaker than her usual guffaw.
We order and make smalltalk before I fill her in on Lucy.
“Listen, don’t worry about her. She’s stronger than she seems. Lucy is just processing this in her own way, but don’t let her kind demeanour kid you. She’s a tough one.”
“I guess you’d know?” I ask.
“Sure, look at what’s happened in her life and she always manages to bounce back in super quick time.”
Fair enough. “So, what’s going on with Brian then? Any news from your perspective?”
“Funny you should say that, we have a lead on him. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we’re running a small op tonight. His employers have set up a fake job for him to go to, so we’re waiting for him to turn up and then, bingo.”
Relief soaks up all the tension that has been eating at my tense muscles. I relax, sit back in my chair and take the first proper lung full of air I’ve managed since Brian attacked Lucy. “That’s great Paula. You don’t give up do you?”
She smiles, shakes her head, “You know my school reports always said I was tenacious.”
“Looks like they got the measure of you.” I toast her with my cup of coffee before falling silent as I take a sip. The flavours are so much stronger than they were before this news, it’s as though my world has suddenly opened up again now the pressure has been lifted.
“Any other breakthroughs?” I ask when I replace the cup back in its saucer.
“Hmm, well... did Lucy tell you about what I did?”
Huh? Girls talk a different language sometimes, even the ever practical Paula. “Not sure, what do you mean?”
She fills me in on her dalliance with Declan Meredith. It’s bad, but I find it hilarious. Amongst all this evil, she manages to brighten the mood without even trying. “You’re kidding me?”
“I wish I was!”
“What did Mo say?”
“That I’m an idiot and not to say anything because he can’t deal with me being kicked off the case. To keep my mouth shut and my nose clean. Make sure that my name isn’t linked officially to any of the paperwork involving him.”
“Ooh, risky...”
She nods. “Yep. Especially as I want to throttle him. I have to follow up with him this afternoon actually, because he was supposed to get us some papers back and, of course, they’ve not come. I’ll get Christine to call him and chat him up.”
“No more murders then?” I cover my mouth and whisper into it, leaning forward so she can hear, but the other visitors can’t.
“Not that we know of. We’ve tracked his barge down, he’s abandoned it in Yorkshire. Local police did a stakeout there, but our man didn’t return so they’re busy checking the CCTV to try to track where he went, but it’s not easy with the holes in the footage. My team are working with the waterways authorities to see who it’s registered to. It might give us a lead.”
“It sounds like it’s all coming together nicely,” I say, tapping my fingers on the table.
“Yeah it does, but Mo has given me the willies. He senses that something’s not right and we’re going to get our arses bitten. Plus, you can never relax, because another twenty-four hours may mean another death. Just because we’ve not found more bodies, I don’t think our guy has stopped. I just think we've not found them yet.”
“Hmm, he does seem to be on a mission.”
“Exactly! And, people don’t stop, until we do it for them, in situations like this.”
“You’re doing well with the press not covering this though. It’s the kind of case which could result in hysteria.”
“Don’t speak too soon, Adam. That’s exactly what this case will breed if the media get wind of it.”
Paula
There’s a slip on my desk when I get back to the office.
“Bloody Adam.” I curse under my breath. The message tells me to contact the biggest hack on the current media circuit. That can only mean one thing. I screw it in a ball and go to throw it in the wastepaper basket, but then think better of it and flatten it under my fist on the desk.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ted asks on his way to the kitchenette.
“Ah, nothing much, just the press.”
“Shit!” he agrees.
“Cheer me up, Ted. Have you got a name yet for the owner of that barge?”
“Well, as it happens, I have just got that nugget of information through ma lady.” He tips his imaginary cap with a tilt of his head and a wink.
I air punch. “Who?”
“Don’t be too hasty.” His smile has evaporated.
An uneasy feeling creeps up my spine. I wait.
“It’s registered to a Mable Brown. Deceased.”
The excitement that had been running through my veins evaporates along with Ted’s smile. “Deceased, hmmm, next of kin, sons?”
“Yeah, we’ve been on it. One son, Will Brown. Actually, Corporal Brown, to be more precise.”
“Now, that’s what I call a lead. Bring him in.”
He opens his mouth as though about to say something, but thinks better of it, saluting again and walking off to make the tea.
When he plants mine down on my desk, I ask what’s been niggling me since he sauntered off.
“You’re not telling me everything, Ted, are you? Is Will Brown posted away?”
“I’m telling you everything I know. We’re still waiting on confirmation on Will Brown’s whereabouts.”
“OK...” Something’s not right about this and I stare at Ted’s back as he continues dishing out the brews.
I poke my head through Mo’s door. “You OK?” I ask, although not really expecting an answer.
He looks tired, his eyes sag under hooded lids. He knows I’m not expecting a response and doesn’t give one. “How are you getting on?” he asks instead.
I click my tongue behind my teeth, “I think you’re right... Something’s up with this case.”
We stare at each other, neither of us having an answer yet so the silence hangs.
“Well, I have some good news. I got the paperwork back from your friend, Declan,” he says, eventually raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, wow. I thought he was going to give us the run around. Anything important?”
“Jake is running through all the names, but nothing hits you as a red flag straight off.” He rests his elbow on the desk and rubs his chin, slumping forward.
“But your gut says different?”
“Hmm.”
“Shall we bring Declan in, try to give him a kick up the proverbial?” I suggest.
“You want to make him pay, don’t you?” Mo grins and, for the first time in a few days, it reaches his eyes. They glisten across the office and radiate warmth into my tired bones.
“Sure, why not? But, it may also help the case.”
“Do it, then.” Mo nods.
“Great. Now, I have another problem...” I tell him about the message slip on my desk alerting me to the media getting wind of what’s going on.
Mo rubs his chin. “Couldn’t you just have left our conversation on a positive?”
His voice is flat again.
“We could use them to our advantage. If we can make some progress, get a description, then they could help us track him down. After all, the barging community is tight knit. Surely someone new would stand out.”
“You don’t have a description though, do you?”
“No.”
We’re quiet.
“I’ll chase up the forensics team, see if they can’t get us that basic height and weight info they were looking into. And, if we bring Declan in, I’m sure he knows something.”
“It could still take days though. We need a breakthrough on this now. Time is starting to run out on us from both sides.”
“I’ll speak to them. If I explain that putting the details of this case out to the public will alert the murderer to us not having a clue who he is, then hopefully they’ll hold off for an exclusive later.”
“Don’t bank on it. I think you’ve been away too long. These hacks aren’t like they used to be. They’re shit scared of a blogger getting hold of the story first. It has turned into a different world, seemingly overnight.”
“Shit!”
I sit in the chair opposite Mo and rap my fingers on his desk. His mouth tenses but he doesn’t comment. I stop anyhow.
“Speak to the communications department, maybe they can slow this down.”
I nod. “Are you waiting whilst we try to locate Brian?”
“Sure, why?”
“Just wondered if you fancy a beer in an hour or so. Let me get this all wrapped up. We’ll bring Declan in, then nip out whilst we keep him waiting. And then see whether Brian turns up at our op. I need to eat a proper meal tonight.”
“Sounds like a plan. Can we avoid the pub though, grab a pizza or something?”
I just said I needed a proper meal, so pizza isn’t exactly what I had on my mind. “Sure,” I say. Some clear head space and a change of scenery is as good as hearty food. “I’ll bring the two for one card.”
Lucy
I have a feeling Eric knew why I was asking him all those questions, but by saying I’m not to do anything stupid, he’s put himself in the clear if I ignore him. That’s fine. This whole experience has changed me and Eric understands.
It’s dark out here, the streets are quiet. There’s the odd man out in his jogging pants allowing his dog the last pee of the night, but little else is going on.
I’ve been trawling the streets looking for a suitable skip. They are everywhere, but not one that contains anything near to what I’m on the hunt for. I’ve found old bathroom suites, plenty of old plaster board and a selection of TV’s. It’s only after hours of searching that I find the one I’m currently knee deep in, rusted down its sides with peeling paint and graffiti. The skip stands, half blocking the pavement, like an unofficial burial ground where passers-by throw their dead pets whilst their children sleep.
Climbing in is an intrepid experience, being only five feet I’m keen to avoid falling on any such decomposing bodies, dog poop or used condoms. But it’s worth the effort once I’m finally knee deep because I find what I’m looking for - discarded G-Plan furniture where the legs are smooth and slim enough to fit comfortably in my small palm. The chair in question is not yet broken, and the skip echoes around the silent streets as I smash the seat against the peeling metal. The light on the lamppost flickers as though it’s complaining about the noise. I ignore it, continue my struggle with the chair, and win. The wood splinters and I’m able to lever the leg away from the seat which it once supported.
I hoist myself out of the skip and dip my head as I pass under the yellow light of the old lamp, now glowing brightly. I know there’s no CCTV around, but I don’t want to be spotted by nosey neighbours with nothing more interesting to do on their evenings than peer through their curtains.
In seventeen minutes, I will encounter Brian.
The stench of urine is overpowering as I approach the alley I’ve earmarked. The light at the top of the small passageway is smashed, probably long ago by some gang of youths entertaining themselves. The cut through is built up on one side with a wall, the other with a chain mail fence, backing onto overgrown weeds scattered with sour relics of discarded takeaways and worse. By midway down the alley, the black shadows on the grey asphalt, from the one working lamppost at the other end, have bled dry.
And so, it’s perfectly dark.
I can hang around unnoticed and undetected.
I pull my hood up, lean against a wall and grip the chair leg hidden under my hoody. The smooth, solid wood is comforting against my palm. The anger which has been festering in my soul is like a septic wound, the only effective medication being hard, cold revenge. I’m about ready to disinfect it and be rid of it, forever. Brian made me look like an idiot in front of people I care about. He attacked me when I was weak. Well, two can play that game and I’m sick of being too nice to people who take advantage or worse.
Here he is.
I’d recognise his gait anywhere. I’ve played this moment over in my mind, preparing for this new experience, trying to conjure rage on demand. But no amount of forethought has prepared me for this moment.
My heart races as he approaches, my mouth is dry and my stomach turns as my innards threaten to deposit in this dark alley along with those of the dogs.
I keep my head low, breathe the cold night air in through my mouth, hearing the whistle of my expiration roll around my hood.
My stomach clenches and I feel sick. I ignore the urge to raise my head, to catch a glimpse of him, like Daisy would. She’d keep her cool. So, instead of following my instinct, I continue to loll against the wall, one foot resting as though this is the most natural place in the world to be hanging out. My other foot planted on the ground, my toes curled ready to pounce.
The air fills with the scent of his aftershave as he approaches. It sticks at the back of my throat and I gag, swallowing the lump down in gulps. He doesn’t notice me as he passes, continues with his head hung low and his hands scrunched in his pockets. An ice runs through my veins, I won’t rest until he’s beaten. He’s taken my soul, which has already wrestled with more than it should several times over, and shamed it, tossing it aside like I was rubbish to be thrown in that dumpster. He crossed a line from which there is no going back and it’s time.
I don’t think. They say you see red, but I don’t. I just clench my jaw and lob the chair leg over his head with all my might. It’s a weird feeling as it smashes into his skull. There’s a dull thud, but nothing anywhere near as dramatic as you’d expect. I’m shaking as his legs crumble and he hits the ground. He’s out cold, his hands don’t raise to break his fall, smashing his face into the tarmac.
I stand over him, anger raging round my body, my arms pumped as I raise the wooden weapon again.
I catch myself. “Shit!” I whisper. ‘What happened? What did I do?’
I only brought the leg so I had something to use for self-defence if he got nasty again. Sure, I didn’t want to be on camera if I didn’t need to be, because I was more than prepared to use force if necessary, but what the hell did I just do? I never intended to just attack the guy when he was walking away from me.
Fuck, the forensics can tell that he had his back turned as well.
I need to think.
What shall I do?
I slap his face. Nothing. I rest my cheek against his mouth like they teach us in those first aid courses I have to attend periodically for my massage insurance. I can’t feel him breathing. I concentrate, clear my mind.
Focus, Lucy.
Is he breathing?
Bloody hell, I’m not sure. I should have paid more attention in class.
I can’t shake him in case he has a head injury, so I slap his cheek again. It’s like working with a dead fish, I get no response.
I’m going to have to call Paula. I don’t have a choice.
Shit, Adam is going to kill me. I thought I’d be able to get away with this without him ever knowing. But a dead body kind of cha
nges a situation.
Will I go down for it?
I pull my phone out of my pocket, find P and dial my best friend.
Mitchell
Rachel grabs a coffee and joins Mitchell again, she can’t believe her luck. He really is as drop dead gorgeous as his photo.
“I managed to get out of work early.” She unwraps that tantalising scarf from around her long neck, making Mitchell suck his breath in before he has time to catch himself.
“I noticed.” He flashes her the charming smile he knows works so well. “How did you manage that?”
“Ah, my boss is an arse.”
“Aren’t most?” He prompts.
She giggles, dips her eyes, before raising them to meet his full on again, “I guess, but mine is a real lech. He tried it on with me. I threatened to report him, which he obviously didn’t want, so he put together a deal to keep me quiet. I stayed on in my job, but now I have an assistant. This means that my responsibilities are fairly limited, giving me enough free time to come and go as I choose, whilst still pulling in a big enough salary for all my financial responsibilities.”
Mitchell almost chokes on his latte. “What do you mean he’s a lecher?”
“We went away on a business trip and he tried it on with me. But not like a drunken pass in the bar. He tried to force himself into my room. I had to fight him off, he ripped my top, he was proper mauling me, it was disgusting.” She shudders. “I kicked him in the nuts and got away.”
Anger surges up Mitchell’s torso and his head starts to pound. “Idiots like that are the worst kind of coward,” he mutters.
“Yeah, the day after I stood up to him, he produced this deal. Funny that! But, it works for me. I’d prefer not to be around him every day, but my role pays well. When you’re at my level, it’s difficult to find another one without being headhunted, which is never a quick process.”