‘Because I’m hard-working, efficient and because I care. I care about finding out the truth no matter what that truth might be.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘But if you’re looking for a yes man, I’m not that person. While I’ll listen to what you have to say, I can’t promise that I’ll always agree. All I can promise is to do my best but, I also know that at times, my best won’t be good enough.’ She spread her hands, her body language clear. While she cared desperately for a positive outcome to the interview, she wasn’t prepared to compromise her ideals. It was best he knew that now or they’d both be disappointed.
Chapter 17
Marie
Monday 11 May, 3 p.m. St Asaph Police Station
‘So, where do you suggest she could have hidden that knife, Mal?’ Marie said, eyeing him over the top of her mug.
‘No idea but if we don’t find it, we’re all for the high jump. Darin’s fine when everything’s going well but I’ve heard rumours about what she was like in Cardiff. A real bitch by all accounts, in addition to being a marriage wrecker. Her lover’s wife accused her in the middle of a staff meeting. She was so pregnant she was ready to pop all over the squad room floor and Darin didn’t even flinch.’
‘Well, I speak as I find and, up to now, I’ve had no cause for complaint.’
‘You’re bound to say that. Women always stick together, don’t they Jax?’
‘I-I-I wouldn’t like to say.’
‘Bloody typical.’ Marie slammed the mug down and, picking up her mobile, reached for her bag. ‘Malachy Devine, she treats us all the same, as you very well know. Playing the male versus female card won’t get you anywhere with either of us and—’ she raised her hand, warding off his next comment ‘—if you’re going to spread rumours like that please ensure that they’re substantiated by fact. As none of us were actually in Cardiff at the time I’d prefer if we made up our own minds.’
She turned to Jax. ‘The air here is a tad too biased for my liking. Catch you later.
Marie stared at the shelf in Boots before picking out a kit at random and placing it in her basket, careful to hide it under the rest of her shopping. While it was unlikely anyone would recognise her in Llandudno, she wasn’t prepared to take any chances. They’d been disappointed too many times in the past to share any part of their pregnancy journey.
She headed for the tills to pay before heading back to Llandudno’s main shopping street and across the road to Marks and Spencer and the toilets hidden away on the second floor behind the menswear department. There were no thoughts of a special meal and a bottle of champagne cooling in the bottom of the fridge. Those were things that she’d orchestrated for the first couple of attempts. After all they were both young and healthy. Getting pregnant couldn’t be that difficult.
Her mindset had changed over the last two years along with the rest of her life and she’d lost a part of herself in the process. Long gone was the fun-loving impulsive girl who’d think nothing of planning a weekend getaway with Ivo, her lawyer husband, Now, she watched what she ate and drank and as for their sex life … Locked in the tiny cubicle she yanked down her knickers. But one look at the blood stained bright against the pure white cotton and she slammed the kit back into the packet for burial down the bottom of her handbag later. There were no tears. She was long past the howling rages and inconsolable grief of ‘why me’. The tears would come later in the silence of her bedroom while she waited for her husband to drift back home from whatever late-night meeting excuse he could come up with. Their marriage was on the edge and her with it.
Back in the main body of the shop, she paid for a sandwich and a carton of juice before making her way up to the roundabout and Gloddaeth Avenue, her thoughts now directed away from her disaster of a life and back to that knife.
She no more believed in Christine’s innocence than Gaby. That’s why the search had been kept to the roads branching off the West Shore. There wouldn’t have been that much time after the murder to dispose of the knife before phoning the police. But now she allowed her mind to follow a different trajectory, one that included de Bertrand’s mysterious dark-haired stranger. What if she had met a man in the pub and subsequently taken him back home for the night? How had he gotten into Llandudno? The likelihood was that he’d have driven. So if he’d driven, he must have had a car, which would have been a problem in its own right. Llandudno was always heaving with holidaymakers and now that Easter was only a memory, all the tiny tributary streets that ran between the high street and the promenade were jam-packed with cars.
With a turn of her heel, she headed back the way she’d come, making her way to the car park situated at the back of the Victoria Shopping Centre, her phone in her hand. Before she’d left St Asaph, she’d arranged for a dog handler to join the search party. With a bit of luck they’d have this knife business sorted by teatime.
Chapter 18
Gaby
Monday 11 May, 3.05 p.m. St Asaph Hospital
Straight after the interview, Gaby made her way across St Asaph to the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service department, or CAMHS, pushing all thought of the less than satisfactory interview out of the way. She should have known better than to get an immediate reply from Sherlock but to be told to wait for a phone call that would determine her whole future was the very last thing she needed right now.
The CAMHS department was situated on the second floor of the hospital, tucked away at the end of a long corridor. After making herself known to the receptionist, Gaby was directed to the waiting room opposite and left to leaf through out-of-date magazines and a copy of yesterday’s Telegraph that someone must have left behind, neither of which held any interest.
She was examining a collection of pamphlets on an array of conditions from bed-wetting to insomnia when she heard her name called. Standing, she struggled not to raise an eyebrow at the pert blonde filling the doorway. She hadn’t known what to expect of Rusty’s psychiatrist contact but if she’d bothered to examine her thoughts on the matter, she wouldn’t have come up with the cool woman in front of her.
‘Detective Darin? I’m Melanie Shaw. Rusty asked me to speak to you. I can only give you a few minutes but that should be long enough – any questions left, I’m happy to answer over the phone or via email,’ she said, with a firm shake of her hand.
Gaby pasted a smile on her face to override the sudden feeling of inferiority that coursed through her veins. Everything about the woman was dainty from her finely sculptured cheekbones to her retroussé nose and reed-thin frame. She was pretty in a quirky sort of way, her mouth a little too wide, her eyes slightly too large for her heart-shaped face. But the whole package added up to everything Gaby wasn’t, despite her recent weight loss and daily jog.
She smothered a stab of envy as she followed her along the corridor and through the last door on the right. It wasn’t like her to feel despondent about life and she was doing everything she could to rectify having piled on the pounds since being almost hounded out of the force. But Cardiff had been nearly a year ago now and the truth was she’d always be a big girl despite the calorie-counting. The best she could hope for was a size 14-16 and that was still a good stone and a half away. So, why should it suddenly matter now? She stared at the knee-length skirt, sheer tights and slim ankles ahead that filled her vision. Now was not the time for self-analysis. She might learn something about herself that she didn’t want to know.
The office wasn’t what she’d expected, the bright airy space at odds with all her recent experiences of the NHS. The large desk had been pushed up against the wall to make room for the red, fabric-covered sofa and chairs. The artwork was modern and striking, the red and blue patterns reflected in the bright rug that took up most of the floor space.
Sitting on the chair indicated, Gaby dragged her jacket across her chest before removing her notebook and pen from her pocket, suddenly at a loss. Rusty must have arranged the appointment almost as soon as she’d left his office, leaving her very little time to r
ead up on the condition – and the one thing she hated more than anything was not being prepared.
She cleared her throat, stalling for time. ‘I’m not sure what Dr Mulholland has told you but—’
‘Oh, Rusty never divulges anything relating to one of his little cases whenever we meet, Detective. There’s always something much more interesting to discuss.’
I’ll just bet there is, she thought, straining to glue a smile onto her lips. She would have laughed if the circumstances had been different. It was almost as if Melanie Shaw was marking her territory. What a laugh. Rusty was the very last man she could ever be interested in. The macho bullshit he came out with was the biggest turn-off. She narrowed her gaze. Her and Rusty? Hell would have to freeze over first and, with global warming, that was never going to happen.
‘I never thought otherwise,’ was all she said, settling further into the chair. ‘The reason I’m here is to find out as much as I can about self-harmers. Why they do it. The drives and urges that make them resort to such extreme measures. That sort of thing.’
‘The issues around why people harm themselves are many and complex, but I’ll try and keep it simple for you,’ Melanie said, lifting her hand and patting her already smooth chignon. ‘The main point, and one the media often fails to realise, is that it’s all part and parcel of a mental illness, the stress being on the word illness. Unlike the common cold, it’s not something you can catch or pass on by being in the same room as a sufferer.’
Gaby scribbled furiously in her notebook, trying to keep up while a list of questions started to pool in her mind. ‘So, I’m guessing it starts, what, with teenagers as a cry for help?’
‘Oh, very good, Detective, although you’re only partly right,’ she said, propping her elbow on the armrest and balancing her chin in her hand, her look intense. ‘Harmers show up in my clinic as young as eleven but it’s certainly not a cry for help. You have to realise that it’s something they carry out in the privacy of their own bedroom and, afterwards, hide the scars under long-sleeved hoodies and jumpers.’ She glanced at her watch before continuing. ‘I could fill a book on the stigma surrounding mental illness and the scars that my patients have to hide for fear of ridicule. The tracks that drug users have are paltry in comparison to the damage caused by a determined harmer.’
Gaby stared down at her notes before continuing. There was something about the case she wasn’t getting and the bit about the state of Nikki’s arms was just one of the loose ends she wanted to tie off as quickly as possible. ‘If there’s such a stigma and horrendous scarring then why do it?’
‘Ah, if I knew the answer to that question, I’d be a millionaire,’ Melanie said, leaning forward in her chair, her hands now clasped on her lap. ‘Self-harming is a vicious cycle of emotional release – a bit like those old-style kettles you take camping that whistle when the steam builds. But, as soon as the kettle is put back on the heat or, in this case, the individual is back in the same environment or situation, the whole cycle starts again. This isn’t child’s play, Detective. Some of these children have emotional scars alongside the physical that would drive you to drink. Having said that, each one brings their unique set of issues along with those scars – it’s up to the skill of the healthcare professional to firstly gain the child’s trust before even beginning to unravel what’s usually a litany of heart-breaking problems. Again, I can only generalise because I don’t know any details about the specific case …’
‘Would it help if I send her medical records over to you?’
‘If it’s that important.’ She flicked another look at her watch before standing. ‘I’m sorry that I don’t have more time today. You’re only here now because I managed to squeeze you in between two consultations as a favour to Rusty. Send over the files as soon as they’re released and I promise that I’ll look at them,’ she said, picking one up from the small pile on her desk.
‘I have one more question, well, not really a question as such,’ Gaby said, making for the door. ‘More of an observation. I guess what I’m trying to understand is the character of the victim. Is it possible to generalise without actually knowing the specifics of the case because I’m beginning to think that poor self-esteem played a huge part? Would that be about right?’
‘Rusty did say not to underestimate your intelligence, Detective,’ Melanie replied, her smile broadening. ‘That’s it in a nutshell apart from one obvious omission. There’s a huge self-destruct button residing deep inside, which is reflected in the high suicide rates in this sector of the population.’
‘Suicide? It’s not possible, is it?’ Amy said, later that evening around at Gaby’s cottage. ‘I thought that there was something about the positioning of the knife being too exact for luck to play any part?’ She reached for the bottle and topped up her wine glass.
‘And there’s no knife! Not something Nikki could have staged unless there was an accomplice and that would make it manslaughter at best. Unless the intention was to put Christine in the frame for her murder but that still doesn’t explain that blasted knife. What a mess.’
Gaby kicked off her shoes and curled her feet beneath, snagging her toes in the throw, which she’d bought last week to disguise the state of the threadbare sofa.
She’d had to sink every penny she had into cobbling together the deposit for her two-bedroomed detached property along Abbey Road and, if it hadn’t been for the sizable handout from her parents, she’d never have managed. She’d only moved in a month ago and the house was still populated with taped up cardboard boxes but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the sense of permanency and commitment that she’d made to North Wales. It would take a lot more than a few problems with fellow officers to drive her away.
All of her salary now went on the mortgage and she’d had to resort to the local auction rooms to ensure she had the basics like somewhere to both sit and sleep. Nothing matched, from the wine glasses to the mugs on the shelf in the kitchen, the room she’d most like to change with its 1970s yellow-pine cupboards, ill-fitting doors and drab brown tiles. The bathroom, with its avocado suite, was even more hideous but, as she kept telling herself, she spent far more time in the kitchen and the lounge than she did in the bath. At least the sofa was comfy, she thought, even if the rest of the room was a huge disappointment. She focused now on the wood-cladding that covered half the room and the grey shag-pile carpet that covered the rest. The previous owner either rocked the Finnish sauna-look or had a part-time job as a lumberjack but, as her father had said before she’d moved in, she couldn’t have everything. The cottage was structurally sound and with the quaintest cottage-garden that surrounded it on three sides. What had attracted her the most though had been the pretty gazebo and large brick-built garage, neither of which she’d had the time or money to think about let alone use. The added income from her promotion would help of course, she mused, remembering the call she’d had from Sherlock, offering her the job and the reason for the impromptu celebration with Amy.
‘If the mother was still living locally, I’d send you over to tap her for information,’ she said finally, hiding a smile at the course of the conversation, which always turned back to work whenever she was alone with Amy. ‘Nikki certainly sounds as if she was one fucked-up kid and, as Family Liaison Officer, you’re worth your weight in gold getting information out of difficult customers.’
‘I’d have no objection to a week in Spain, although Tim might object unless you could afford to send us both?’ Amy pouted at the sight of Gaby shaking her head, before returning to the serious job of loading her sliver of celery with more beetroot hummus than was humanly possible. ‘You’ll have to tell me how to make this, you know. I’m becoming a big fan.’
‘Yes, well, with your boyfriend owning one of the best bistros in the area I don’t think my measly little offering can in anyway compare.’ Gaby said, topping up her wine glass.
‘Talking about men, what’s this I hear about the esteemed Dr Mulholland actually bein
g nice for a change, Detective Sergeant Darin?’ Amy sent her a lop-sided smile. ‘And before you ask, it was Owen who told me. He said you were like a cat let loose in a creamery. I thought you hated each other’s guts, no pun intended,’ she added on a laugh.
‘Ha, very funny, Potter. Guts indeed,’ Gaby said, breaking into a grin. ‘Yes, Rusty did lay off for once. I have no idea what got into him, but long may it continue. However, I wouldn’t get too excited. He wasn’t that nice, just nicer than normal.’ She lifted her glass and chinked it against Amy’s before taking a long sip.
‘Maybe it’s a case of unrequited love on his part but he’s too shy to make a move. Did you know the gossip at the station is that his ex-wife divorced him because of the long hours he keeps, screwing him to the floor in the process with the worst divorce settlement ever? There was a boy, too.’ She frowned, her pretty face almost hidden by the dim light cast by the table lamp. ‘She used him as extra ammunition in the divorce and now he’s shuttled between them like an unwanted parcel. Despicable. For an intelligent, not to mention wealthy man like Rusty to fall for a woman with big tits but no integrity is bloody typical.’
‘Just where do you get all this from?’ Gaby raised her eyebrow and not for the first time at Amy’s ability to extract juicy bits of information about her colleagues. She was always the last to hear any whiffs of gossip around the station and she’d certainly never heard any of them utter a word about Rusty. She knew he was newly single but that was hardly surprising if he’d been dumped on well and truly by his ex. She blinked, remembering the photo of the boy on his desk, very similar to the school photos her mother had dotted around the house. She remembered thinking at the time what a handsome lad he was – and he and Rusty were two peas in a pod with the same coppery red hair and gangly frame.
Darkest Night Page 10