by M K Farrar
“Sorry to bother you, boss, but Superintendent Woods wants to see you.”
Erica frowned. She rarely dealt with the super. That was her DCI’s job. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, but I haven’t seen Gibbs this morning.”
“Okay, thanks, Rudd.”
She left her bag and jacket at her desk and caught the lift to the upper floor where the superintendent ’s office was located. An unfamiliar flip of nerves churned in her stomach. Gibbs normally dealt with the superintendent, while she dealt with Gibbs. What had happened to change things?
She knocked on the door, waited until he called her in, then entered.
“You asked to see me, sir?”
Superintendent Gerard Woods was in his late forties to early fifties, his previously black hair now almost white, but still thick and well-groomed. As far as Erica was aware, Woods had never married and preferred to spend his time off on the golf course.
“Swift, yes, thank you for coming up so quickly. I know you’re busy.”
“No problem. How can I help?”
“I don’t know how well the office grapevine is working, but DCI Gibbs was taken into hospital in the early hours of this morning.”
She couldn’t help her mouth dropping open. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“They’re not sure at the moment. He may have suffered a small stroke.”
“That’s terrible. How frightening for him. Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes, the doctors think so, though obviously it’s early days yet, and I’ve only heard this news through his wife. Poor woman was clearly distraught, understandably.”
“It was good of her to phone at all,” Erica said. “I’m sure she had other things on her mind.”
“Of course, you’re right, but in the meantime, we’re left without a DCI.”
“Right.” Shit. Who was he going to bring in to cover Gibbs? They were notoriously short-staffed—so many cuts to funding over the past few years. She’d had her issues with Gibbs in the past, but there was always the case of better the devil you know, and she liked that for the most part he allowed her to get on with things and trusted her opinion.
“So,” the superintendent continued, “I wanted to ask if you’d step into his shoes while he was out of action.”
Erica blinked. “Step into his shoes? You mean take on the role of DCI?”
He lifted a hand in a stop sign. “It would only be temporary. When Gibbs returns to work, he’ll return in his current position.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, hurriedly. She’d never want to tread on her DCI’s toes.
“You’d be acting DCI,” he continued. “How does that sound to you?”
“It sounds interesting. Thank you for thinking of me, sir.”
“Not at all. You’ve shown some excellent police work over the past couple of years, despite everything that’s happened with your personal life, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. You deserve this opportunity.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I know a new case has come in this morning. You’ll be the senior investigation officer on it. You’ll also have to take on the work Gibbs was already doing. I believe he has a court case coming up, and I doubt you’ll be thanking me for the increase in paperwork.”
“It’s not a problem, sir.”
Her head was spinning as she left the office and pulled the door shut behind her. She’d be reporting to Gerard Woods now, and had more responsibility and power to mobilise other departments, if needed.
“Well?” Shawn caught her up. “What did he want?”
She didn’t want to do anything to start office gossip. It was best to be upfront about everything. “Can you get everyone to come to Gibbs’ office? I need to pass on some information.”
He frowned but nodded. “Right away.”
She was grateful he didn’t press her. She went to her desk—her old desk now—and picked up her belongings. She’d need to get IT to move her PC onto Gibbs’ desk. Her desk—at least for the time being.
It felt strange stepping into the office without Gibbs being in there. She hoped he’d be all right. The superintendent had said Gibbs had suffered a stroke, but how bad was it? Even a small stroke could leave someone with on-going issues such as muscle weakness or fatigue. A person needed to be sharp in this role, and even when in good health, this job was a strain both physically and mentally. She couldn’t imagine he’d be back at work within a week or two, but then she wasn’t a doctor.
Movement came outside the office door, and she looked up to see her team filtering in. They each wore matching expressions of confusion, both at Gibbs’ absence and her presence in his office. She rested her backside against the edge of the desk, waiting for her team to file through the door.
“Thanks for coming, everyone,” she started. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, DCI Gibbs isn’t here this morning. I was called up to Superintendent Woods’ office just now and informed that unfortunately DCI Gibbs suffered a small stroke overnight.”
A murmur of concern rose around the room, and Erica lifted a hand to quieten them. “I’m sure you’ll join me in wishing him the best and hoping he’ll make a speedy recovery, but while he is, the superintendent has asked if I’ll step into his shoes.”
The murmur of concern morphed to one of approval, and she fought her natural embarrassment. “It’s only temporary,” she reminded them.
The last thing she’d want to do was look as though she was trying to steal Gibbs’ job out from under him while he was recovering in hospital. She was driven in her career, but she wasn’t underhand. She hadn’t caused the stroke to try to steal her boss’s job.
“In the meantime, we need to find out what happened to the body on the canal. I’ll send a card around for Gibbs as well, and everyone can let him know we’re thinking of him and hope he gets better soon.”
Everyone took that as a signal to leave and the team filed out, leaving Erica behind. She felt weirdly out of place.
Someone from IT bustled in and drew to a halt. “Sorry, didn’t realise anyone was in here. I’ve been told there are some computers that need switching over.”
“Yes, thank you. Mine’s on the desk over there.”
She was thankful to have her own computer, not only for the work side of things, but because it felt more like her little piece of home here at the office. It was stupid, she knew, but then she probably wouldn’t even be here long enough for this desk to ever feel like home.
Chapter Three
Angela Hargreaves stood in the upstairs hallway of her Grade-Two-listed, stucco-fronted Kensington house. She loitered outside one of the four bedrooms, her stomach a knot of anxiety. Her suit skirt felt too tight around her hips, and her feet already ached in her Jimmy Choo shoes.
The room had become a strangely revered part of the house, as though it no longer felt it belonged to her. Separate, distant, unattainable. She hated that there was a part of her that didn’t even want to go inside, fearful of what she might find.
She couldn’t help but catastrophise everything. What if she went in and her daughter had suffered a brain aneurysm during the night? She pictured herself screaming and falling to her knees beside the bed, tearing out her hair and wailing with grief. There was no reason to think Millicent would have suffered a brain aneurysm—her illness had nothing to do with her brain—but rationality didn’t play a part when it came to her imagination.
“Mum,” a voice called. “I know you’re out there. Stop lurking. It’s freaking me out.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
She didn’t know why she pictured a future where her only child was dead so often. Surely that wasn’t normal? Didn’t other parents imagine a future where their children were healthy and happy, not dead? Of course, other parents weren’t in the same position she was, but it was as though she was torturing herself with the possibility. Testing herself. Or maybe it was that she was trying to prepare herself by going through the eventuality in
her head and seeing how much her emotions would take.
Because other parents weren’t in her position, were they? They had healthy children and could look forward to their futures. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, and with the way things were going, she didn’t have much hope to give.
Angela pushed open the door and stepped into the room. It had been perfectly decorated in a style Milly had referred to as an ‘alternative aesthetic’, whatever the hell that might mean. Milly sat in the middle of her double bed, her laptop in front of her. To any outside observer, she appeared to be like a normal teenage girl, but if they looked closely, they’d see how much thinner and smaller she was than her counterparts, how pale her skin was, and dark the shadows beneath her eyes. An even closer view would reveal scars upon scars.
“How are you feeling today?” Angela perched on the edge of her bed.
Milly shrugged. “Shit. Same as usual.”
“I’d switch places with you if I could.” She’d said this before, a thousand times, and had wished it even more often. “It’s so unfair. You’re young and should be living your life.”
“You’re young, too, Mum. You’ve still got your life to live.”
I don’t want to live it if you’re not in it as well.
She was forty-eight but often felt a decade older. She didn’t think she’d slept a full night in years.
How could she be so helpless? She was a professional woman—a high-ranking politician, no less. Even after Millicent’s father had left her eight years ago, she hadn’t broken down. She’d remained cool and professional. She thought it was one of the things he hadn’t liked about her, that coolness, but perhaps she’d got worse as she’d got older. Or maybe she’d simply stopped caring. Years of arguments had worn her out, and she knew nothing would change. When he’d announced he’d been offered a job in the States and that he’d be going and leaving her—and Milly—behind, she’d been more relieved than anything else. At least then she wouldn’t be the bad guy. She’d felt horrible for Milly, however. She’d only been six at the time and hadn’t really understood what was happening. One day her daddy was at home, putting her to bed and making her breakfast when she got up in the morning, and the next he was saying goodbye and the only contact she’d have with him was via a computer screen. He’d made lots of promises for visits but had never lived up to them.
Then Millicent had started to get sick, and instead of stepping up to the plate, he’d withdrawn even more. He had a new life in America, a new family, and the last thing he needed was an ill child ruining the whole thing.
Angela had worked so hard to give her daughter everything she hadn’t had. She’d grown up in a council flat in North London and remembered never having treats and her clothes always being hand-me-downs. Even as a teenager, she remembered thinking that she wanted more, that there was all this possibility out there in the world, and while her friends were out drinking and sleeping around, she kept her head in her books and came out with a bucketful of A-grade GCSEs that had then gone on to get her into doing her A-levels, which she’d then been able to use to go onto university to study politics. She was aware that if she’d grown up in current times, she probably wouldn’t have been able to afford to go to university, and so wouldn’t be in the job role she had now. It seemed hugely unfair that students these days were saddled with massive debts when they graduated as well. But she was a politician, and it was a part of her job to fight injustices like this, though at times she felt as though she might as well be shouting into the wind.
Her background was one of the reasons she’d been elected. People liked that she came from a normal upbringing. She was ‘authentic’, as the papers liked to say. She represented the people, which was something the Conservative party couldn’t say often. The party liked having her in their ranks, too, pulling her up as the token ‘working class’ minister, despite living in an expensive part of London, in a house that was worth well over a million, according to the last valuation she’d had done. She’d got lucky with that, though, buying many years ago when the housing prices hadn’t been the crazy amounts they were today.
She’d gone into this work to change things for people, but whenever she looked around, she felt like the country was going backwards.
Movement came at the bedroom door, and Angela turned to see their hired help, Magda, standing in the doorway. Magda was a private healthcare worker, but also, unofficially, Milly’s babysitter. At fourteen, Milly would have thrown a hissy fit at the idea of having a babysitter, so she was never referred to as that, but Magda’s presence meant Angela could go to work without worrying too much—or at least any more than normal.
“How’s the patient feeling this morning?” Magda asked as she bustled in.
Milly grimaced. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”
Magda moved around the bed, checking the bottles of medicine on the nightstand, and then straightening the sheets. “Have you eaten this morning?”
“A little.”
“Hardly anything,” Angela scolded. “A couple of mouthfuls, and that was at a push.”
Milly sighed and sank back into the bed. “I just didn’t feel like it.”
“It’s not a matter of what you feel like. You have to eat to stay strong and get better.”
“Mum, food is not going to make me better.”
“Your mother is correct,” Magda said. “You must eat. It’s important for your body to get the right nutrients.” She patted the back of the girl’s hand. “I’ll make you a smoothie with lots of fruit and spinach and oats and yogurt.”
She pulled a face. “Sounds disgusting.”
“Don’t be rude,” Angela told her. “That would be wonderful, Magda. Thank you so much.”
“Not a problem. Don’t you need to get to work?”
She checked her watch. “Shit, yes, I do. I’m going to be late.” She leaned in and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Make sure you get some schoolwork done today, too. I don’t want you spending all day on social media.”
Milly rolled her eyes. “What’s the point? It’s not as though I’m going to take my exams or go on to have a job.”
“Don’t start with that, Mils. We need to stay positive. Don’t give up.”
“Sure, Mum.”
Angela didn’t have time to have this conversation with Milly again. “Just call me if you need anything. You, too, Magda.”
Magda flapped her away. “We’ll be fine. Go, go.”
Reluctantly, Angela left the room and hurried downstairs. Her driver was waiting for her outside, and she was already running late. Now she needed to put her politician hat on and try not to think about the too-thin teenage girl she’d left in bed.
Chapter Four
Erica slid a cup of vending machine coffee across the table towards their key witness.
The other woman’s hand shook as she picked it up and took a sip. “Thanks, I need this.”
“I can get you something to eat as well,” Erica offered. “It’s no bother.”
Leah Fairbank wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t think my stomach could take it. Honestly, after experiencing...that...I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to eat again.”
Erica understood. In the early days of her career, she remembered how the smell of a dead body could cling to the insides of her nostrils for what felt like days. But between being a parent, and dealing with nights filled with a puking child, and changing nappies, and being a detective, she’d certainly built up a stronger stomach.
“You’ll have to force yourself at some point,” Erica said sympathetically. “You’ll need to keep your strength up.”
The woman gestured at the plastic cup. “This will do for the moment.”
Leah Fairbank was an attractive woman in her early thirties, with expensively highlighted hair and smart clothes. Erica imagined she was normally perfectly put together, but right now she looked as though she’d been in a tussle with an alligator, her
shirt rumpled, and her mascara smeared beneath her eyes.
“What happened to my dog?” she asked. “I was walking him when I saw...it.”
“One of my detectives is taking care of him. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands. Everyone is enjoying the distraction.”
“Oh, good. He’s my baby-substitute, you know. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to him. Do you have any pets, Detective?”
Erica shook her head. “No, but my daughter is always nagging at me to get a kitten.”
“I’m much more of a dog person myself. I read somewhere once that the biggest divide in the human race isn’t male or female, it’s cat lovers and dog lovers. Did you ever hear that? Cats are so aloof, aren’t they? No loyalty, that’s what everyone says. They’ll just go off and live with whoever feeds them.” She was talking fast, babbling, and she must have realised as she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. “Sorry, we’re not here to talk about our preference in pets, are we?”
“No, we’re not, but that’s okay.”
The woman had been through a trauma, and Erica wasn’t about to cut her off.
“Is it okay if I record this interview?” she asked. “It’ll help me later on when I go back over the details.”
Leah nodded. “Do whatever you need to.”
Erica flipped the switch to start the recording. “DI Swift conducting an interview with Miss Leah Fairbank.” She gave the time and date, and location of the interview, then turned her attention back to Leah. “Can you tell me your full name, address, and date of birth.”
Leah spoke it all for the recording.
“Talk me through the start of your day,” Erica said. “From when you woke up.”
Leah nodded and stared down at her hands, which were clasped on the table. “My alarm went off at six, and I took a quick shower and got dressed. I ate a piece of toast and drank a cup of tea.” She lifted her head and added, “You don’t need all these details, do you?”
Erica smiled at her. “Details are good. I like details.”